Cold of Winter
by darke wulf
Summary: What will become of the Hamato Clan when one of their own is turned against them? Warnings: Self-harm, torture.
1. Chapter 1

Cold of Winter

By: darke wulf

_Disclaimer: Unless you don't recognize them, I don't own them. No money or other profits are being made from this attempt at entertainment. _

_Fair warning, this is going to be an Alternate Universe fic. It takes place not too long after the 2007 CGI movie, but the Shredder is still alive and well and in charge of the Foot. Other details of the original timeline may or may not also be altered as I go along._

_**Also, for the purpose of my world the ages of the Turtles are Leo, Raph, Don then Mikey (from eldest to youngest). **__Personally, I just find Leo and Raph being the two eldest makes the most sense based on personalities and the interactions between the Turtles._

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"Without having experienced the cold of winter, one cannot appreciate the warmth of spring."

~ Chinese Proverb

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Oroku Saki absently took in the shifting lights below as he gazed out over the city from his office high above in the Foot Headquarters Building. An untouched cup of green tea sat cooling on his desk next to the reports he had just finished reviewing. All the lights in the room had been turned off, leaving him with a view unhindered by reflections on the thin glass panes that separated him from the outside.

He sat behind his desk, his back to the room, elbows poised on the armrests of his chair while his chin rested in the cradle of his entwined fingers. His relaxed posture was in stark contrast to his rapidly moving thoughts as he analyzed his latest defeat at the hands of those loathsome turtles of the Hamato Clan.

He had actually been surprised to discover that the turtles had been the ones to foil the Foot's most recent heist. It had been nearly two years since the group of them had last intruded in his business. It had been a welcome respite. Not to say that the Foot had been without adversaries. Between the local and federal authorities, who had been showing a closer interest in his activities since the fiasco that had destroyed the original Foot Headquarters, and Raphael's Nightwatcher persona, a delicate approach had been required for his latest plan, but things had been proceeding quite well until the previous night.

Surprisingly, it wasn't the loss itself that he was contemplating, but the analysis of the fight that had been provided by the two members of his elite whom he had placed in charge of the task. They had reported a strange tension between the turtles, which had Saki intrigued. While there was always friction between the two eldest, from what his elite had said it appeared that this time it was Donatello that was the source of the disturbance.

If it hadn't been his elite who had reported this, Saki would not have believed it. Even coming from his most reliable, he was having trouble imagining that Donatello, the pacifist of the Clan who had always seemed content to stand in the shadows of his brothers, was apparently now at odds with them.

Not that the Shredder would blame him if he was; Saki had only ever had contempt for the turtle who had so **much** potential and yet continuously let himself be dominated by his brothers. He hadn't bothered with the turtle after determining that the fool, while obviously intellectually superior, apparently had no real ambition beyond helping his Clan. Unlike Leonardo and Raphael, Donatello had no apparent anger, brash pride, or insecurities to use against him, and so Saki had dismissed him from his mind and concentrated his psychological attacks on the two eldest whom he deemed more vulnerable to them.

But now…if what he had been told was true, it could create a plethora of opportunities. If Donatello was finally tiring of his inglorious position in the Hamato Clan, if he could be turned from said Clan and convinced to join the Foot…while not one for overdramatizing events, Saki could not prevent the smirk that graced his face as the prospects unfolded before his mind's eye.

Not that he expected Donatello to turn from his family without certain…persuasive efforts…on his part; he understood his enemies far better than that. He was confident, however, that if a rift did exist he would be able to use it to his advantage.

He was getting ahead of himself, though. To this point, his only had vague reports of an apparent friction between Donatello and the other turtles. It could turn out to be only a small disagreement, something that would be resolved by the next time his warriors encountered them.

On the other hand…

Oh, the _possibilities_…


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: Unless you don't recognize them, I don't own them. No money or other profits are being made from this attempt at entertainment. _

_Fair warning, this is going to be an Alternate Universe fic. It takes place not too long after the 2007 CGI movie, but the Shredder is still alive and well and in charge of the Foot. Other details of the original timeline may or may not also be altered as I go along._

_Also, for the purpose of my world the ages of the Turtles are Leo, Raph, Don then Mikey (from eldest to youngest). Personally, I just find Leo and__ Raph being the two eldest makes the most sense based on personalities and the interactions between the Turtles._

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_**Question**__ – Do you guys prefer shorter, more frequent chapters or longer ones that would take a bit longer to publish? I typically prefer to write longer chapters, but so far at least this story is shaping up in such a way that I am comfortable with how the shorter chapters are working. _

_I could stick with the longer chapters as well, though._

_Please let me know which you prefer in a review. Thanks!_

_Also, thanks for all the great reviews so far. Hearing positive feedback from you all really means a lot to me!_

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Now that Leonardo was back and had reinstituted, and increased, their training and the patrolling of the city Donatello had even less time to spend in keeping up the systems around the lair and in making all the repairs that became necessary in a house full of rambunctious, teenage ninja. It made for many long nights and very little sleep.

He was currently in the middle of one of those long nights, as he worked to finish an update to the lair's security system that would, theoretically, increase its sensitivity to, for instance, enemy ninja sneaking up on them while decreasing the number of false alarms caused by the random sewer rat and other non-hostile creatures.

It was approaching eleven, and he was only making slow headway in his debugging efforts, when the lab door opened up and his eldest brother looked in, a frown on his face. "Donatello, what are you still doing up? We have training tomorrow morning."

Donatello held in a sigh; really, did Leonardo think he was a total idiot? "Yes, Leonardo. I'm aware of that. You've had us train every morning for the last month."

"Only because you need it! Seriously Donnie, what did you do while I was gone? All of you have become so rusty it's not funny. If we're to have any chance of defeating the Shredder and his Foot, we have to stay in top shape."

Donatello froze briefly after those words left his brother's mouth, thoughts racing through his head. _What did I do while you were gone?! Oh, I don't know…how about tried to keep this family together, Splinter alive, and Raph from going over the deep end. What did YOU do while you were away, Leo? Besides become a Grade A asshole…_

Of course, he didn't actually **say** any of it out loud. With the way Leonardo had been acting since he came back, it would only fall on deaf ears anyway.

He counted backwards from twenty in his head in Latin to help regain some of his calm before answering. "I apologize, Leonardo. I tried my best. That obviously was not adequate for this family, however. It was certainly most excellent fortune that you returned when you did. Now, if you will excuse me, it's late and, as you said, we do have training tomorrow."

He then moved as if to shut down his computers, really only putting them into standby mode, stood up from his desk chair and made his way past Leonardo and out the door of the lab. As he moved down the hall towards his bedroom he heard Leonardo call out to him, "Donnie, wait! That's not what I…"

Arriving safely at his bedroom door, he entered without so much as glancing at his brother. "Good night, Leonardo." The door closed between them, adding a physical presence to the barrier between him and his family.

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Several hours later, when Donatello was certain that everyone was asleep, he silently left his bedroom and returned to his lab. He had attempted to lose himself in some reading while waiting, but he hadn't been able to concentrate on the pages in front of him.

He was so very tired of it all. He was tired of being constantly compared to his brothers and never matching up; tired of working his shell off without so much as a 'thanks'; tired of being expected to bear the brunt of everyone's anger and unhappiness because, after all, he was the 'understanding one' and so shouldn't mind it when they took out their problems on him. It was all becoming too much to bear, yet there was no one to whom **he** could go to discuss his own problems; he was just met with uncaring attitudes and basically told to stop whining and be more like his brothers.

He closed the lab door firmly behind himself and walked over to his desk, sighing deeply as he sat down in his chair. He jiggled the mouse to wake up the computer and then entered his password. He stared blankly at the screen before him for several heartbeats before taking a determined, cleansing breath and forcing himself to concentrate on the programming strings in front of him. He had to get this project done tonight, and he had already lost several hours thanks to his brother's interruption. He didn't have the time for self-pity.

He wasn't allowed such a privilege.

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Finally, after hours of slouching in the same position in front of his computer screen, with only the occasional tapping on his keyboard to show that he was in fact still conscious, Donatello had completed, he hoped, the debugging of the upgrade. Stretching his arms high above his head and not bothering to stifle a large yawn, he felt the satisfying 'pop' of several bones moving back into place.

He gave a lopsided grin as he made a final pass through the program, thrilled when no new error messages appeared on the screen. Of course, he was certain that some tweaking would be required when he propagated the program over the network and ran it through the last batch of testing, but that could wait for tomorrow…or rather later today he realized as he glanced up at the clock in the bottom corner of his computer screen.

He did a final save, backing up his work on the separate hard drive designated for all the security system updates, and nearly cracked his jaw on another yawn as he waited for the back-up to finish.

Still wearing a small smile, he shut down the computer and made his way to his bedroom, collapsing on the bed as soon as he was close enough and, for the first time in several weeks, fell into a peaceful sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: Unless you don't recognize them, I don't own them. No money or other profits are being made from this attempt at entertainment. _

_Fair warning, this is going to be an Alternate Universe fic. It takes place not too long after the 2007 CGI movie, but the Shredder is still alive and well and in charge of the Foot. Other details of the original timeline may or may not also be altered as I go along._

_Also, for the purpose of my world the ages of the Turtles are Leo, Raph, Don then Mikey (from eldest to youngest).__Personally, I just find Leo and Raph being the two eldest makes the most sense based on personalities and the interactions between the Turtles._

_Once again, thanks for all the reviews!!!_

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_**Fair warning**__ – I'm not terribly fond of this chapter, but at this point I've been working on it too long and need a change of scenery. I decided to post it and move along, but if anyone has suggestions for improvement (particularly for the flashback between Don and Raph; this is the main part that's bugging me) I'd love to hear them!_

_Thanks as always for reading!_

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"You all know your orders. Go now and prepare your teams. We leave in eighteen hours." Thus dismissed, the four elite bowed deeply to the Shredder and left his throne room to run through the plans for that night with their men and ensure that everyone knew their role.

Unknown to the elite, the Shredder had a secondary goal for that evening as well. He knew the turtles' favorite routes through the city for their patrols, and had deliberately selected a chemical lab near one such route in the hopes of attracting their attention. He needed to see and analyze for himself this supposed new animosity between his enemies before he would be willing to commit too many resources to potentially taking advantage of it.

Not that he was setting his team up to fail, he had every confidence in the plan he had developed and had increased the number of men that he was sending knowing the likelihood of the turtles interfering was, hopefully, high. He himself planned to remain in the shadows to better study events, but if necessary he was confident in his own abilities to keep the turtles busy while his Foot secured the chemicals required.

And so Oroku Saki settled in to review financial reports, a light of malicious anticipation shining in his dark eyes.

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Donatello did his best to hold back his yawn as he watched Michelangelo and Leonardo spar in the dojo. Splinter had decided to lead that morning's session, and was having the turtles work in pairs so he could analyze the fights and correct any errors found.

Of course, it went without saying that he had yet to correct Leonardo on anything.

"_Pretentious bastard,"_ he grumbled to himself as he rubbed at his tired eyes with one hand.

"That is enough," Splinter's words caused Donatello to start slightly before he could stop himself. "Michelangelo, continue to work on your concentration, my son. You cannot allow yourself to get distracted during a true battle. It could prove fatal."

"Sure thing, Sensei!" the orange-banded turtle replied, giving a thumbs up to Splinter as he moved over towards the wall to get out of the way of the upcoming action.

Splinter then turned to his eldest son. "An excellent job, as usual Leonardo. You make this old rat proud."

"_Oh yes, Leonardo, an excellent job. Really, why do the rest of us even bother. Surely just a glimpse of your phenomenal skills will send the Foot running for the hills in abject terror…"_

Donatello and Raphael moved into position, facing Splinted first and bowing before turning to each other, about six feet separating them, and bowing again.

"Begin!"

Donatello knew from the start this match was not going to be pretty. He was just too tired for his movements and responses to be as sharp as normal, and against Raphael anything less than his best was not going to be good enough.

"Donatello, bend your elbow more on your punches. And keep your forearm straight!"

Donatello's grunt of acknowledgement turned to one of slight pain as he took a glancing blow in his side from Raph's elbow. He slipped out of the grasp before Raphael could tighten the hold he had, however. The last thing Donatello wanted to do was to get caught up in close quarters with Raphael. Even without weapons, he was far better suited to waging his battles from long-range.

"Raphael, you must be quicker with your clench. You cannot give your opponent time to realize your intent and slip away."

"Right, Sensei," Raph replied as he warily watched Donatello. When he realized that an attack was not forthcoming, he went on the offensive, quickly rushing Donatello to get back into closer quarters.

Now back in his comfort zone, Raphael aimed a punch for Donatello's head that he was barely able to block. Raph caught Donatello's returned strike, and pulled him off balance by yanking on the caught wrist, though Don quickly recovered. A flurry of punches, knees and kicks followed, and it was clear that Donatello was being pushed to his limits to block Raph's blows.

Ordinarily he was an ideal opponent for Raphael, his patience and intricate planning an excellent foil for his brother's rash actions and more instinctual fighting. Today, however, he was struggling miserably and he knew it. It was incredibly frustrating to Donatello, but he had been so tired from the start of the fight from his long night finishing the upgrade, and now he was paying for it.

"Focus, Donatello. Your reactions today are slower than usual. You must concentrate on the fight before you before allowing your mind to wonder elsewhere."

"_Trust me, Sensei; my focus isn't the problem. I'm just too damned tired…Dammit; I've got to get away from him so I can regroup. This can only end badly for me."_ Donatello examined his options before taking advantage of a slight opening and flipping away from Raphael. Unfortunately, Raph was able to recover quicker than he had anticipated, and Don was struck in the head with a powerful kick from his brother.

"Raphael, shorten your follow through on your jab. The next strike must come more quickly."

Donatello managed to land on his feet a few feet from Raph, but he was unsteady and his thought processes was obviously affected by the blow. Seizing the opportunity, Raphael rushed Don and flipped him over his shoulder.

Donatello landed hard, but took advantage of the opportunity and twirled on his shell, attempting to sweep Raph off his feet.

"Excellent recovery, Donatello, however you should have been able to block Raphael's attack."

Seeing what his brother had planned, Raphael jumped over the sweeping kick, taking the opportunity to land another kick of his own on his brother's head.

Raphael turned to face his brother, who was slow in arising from the floor.

The previous blows Donatello had taken, combined with his sleep-deprived state, left him having trouble focusing. His thoughts flew around his head like a group of bats attempting to escape on attic. As he stood shakily on his feet he shook his head, desperately trying to clear his head.

It was important…he had to think…he was…fighting?…Foot…no…Raphael?

The present and the past flew through his mind, events of the not so distant past coming to mind.

_**He was leaving again. Did Raphael really think he was so stupid that he wouldn't figure out what he was doing? It wasn't like he tried too hard to avoid being caught on camera. And while the ridiculous suit he wore might keep those unaware from guessing the truth, one 5' tall mutant turtle had no trouble identifying another.**_

"_**Raphael, where are you going?"**_

"_**Out!" was the reply snarled as the elder continued to the door.**_

"_**Out where?" Donatello inquired, his patience non-existent from a long day of dealing with idiots.**_

"_**None of your fucking business! I'm heading out. That's all you need to know."**_

"_**And when, exactly, do you plan on coming back?"**_

"_**Like I said, brainiac, it's none of your business. Who do you think you are, Fearless?"**_

"_**I was put in charge…"**_

_**Raphael snorted, crossing his arms over his chest, "Yeah, who knew Sensei had such a sense of humor; making a loser like you Leader."**_

"_**It's not like I ASKED for this position, Raphael."**_

"_**Oh boo, hoo. Let's all feel sorry for poor little Donatello who's trying to fill his big brother's shoes and only proving what a complete failure he really is."**_

_**Donatello recoiled as if physically struck. How could Raph… Donatello knew he couldn't fill Leonardo's shoes. He had never wanted to, still didn't want to. Of course he was a failure…he knew it…Splinter made it obvious that he knew it…he wasn't surprised that Raph had realized it, too. He really was useless…dead weight…everyone would be better off without… "Shut up! You don't know ANYTHING, you bastard. Just shut the hell up!"**_

"_**Did you just tell me what to do, you little pissant? YOU? Oh, you've got to be kidding me!"**_

"_**What, was three syllables too much for your sadly stunted intellect?" Raphael wasn't the only one who knew how to make his attacks hurt. Donatello knew his weaknesses, too…**_

"_**That's it!" **_

_**Raphael came flying at him, fists ready to strike. He was completely unprepared. He had never expected Raphael to ever attack him…not Raphael…his big brother…his protector. Yes, they might verbally fight, but Raphie would never…**_

A front kick to his stomach took Donatello painfully off his feet; flying backwards, his head was once again struck, this time by one of the weapons' racks that lined the dojo walls. He slumped to the floor, memories still assaulting him.

"Donnie, are you alright?"

"_**Donnie! What the shell happened to your face?"**_

"_**It's nothing, Mikey…"**_

"_**Donatello, where is Raphael?"**_

"Don? Don?! Snap out of it!"

"_**He went out, Sensei."**_

"_**And you allowed his to do so? I am disappointed in you, my son. With Leonardo gone, it falls to you as Leader to reign in your brother's impetuous nature. You must provide guidance for he and Michelangelo. You cannot simply ignore your duties because you find them distasteful."**_

"Donatello, my son, please wake up."

"**I suggest you mediate this evening on how you can correct the failings you have displayed thus far."**

"**But Master Splinter, Donnie's…"**

"**Yes, Master. As you command."**

"C'mon, Donnie. Talk to us."

Someone was talking to him; several someones…clamoring for his attention. Why wouldn't they just leave him alone? He was tired; he hurt…he just wanted to curl up in his bed and be left alone…

With much effort, Donatello was finally able to bring his mind completely back to the present. The stabbing pain in his head and faces he saw surrounding him…crowding…_**demanding, always demanding**_…made him regret the trouble.

He blinked slowly, summoning the effort to speak.

"I'm fine."

The furry hand on his shoulder tightened briefly. "Donatello, you are not fine. You have been unresponsive to our calls for several minutes now. I suspect you have a concussion…"

"Hmph. It wouldn't be the first time." Summoning all his available strength, Donatello shrugged off the concerned hands touching him and, using the wall as support, rose to his feet. Once upright he swayed slightly, recoiling from the hands that once again reached out to grasp…grab…_**hurt**_. He nearly fell again when he overcompensated in his attempt to remain on his feet, but grabbed onto the same weapons' rack that had sent him down to steady himself.

"Come on, Don. Let us help you to bed. Mikey, go get him some aspirin."

"Will do, Leo!" Michelangelo replied as he ran from the dojo.

"I said I'm fine. I don't need any medication, and I certainly don't need _your_ help." Donatello snarled, looking into the startled face of his eldest brother.

"What the hell, Donnie!" Raph yelled, causing a spike of agony to flare in Donatello's head. "We're just trying to help. You look like you're about to fall flat on your face!" He reached out again, determined to force his brother to bed, but was unprepared for the reaction he received.

"Don't touch me!" Donatello cried out, a look of fear crossing his face quickly as he jerked away from Raphael, moving closer to the door, before anger took its place. "For the last time, dammit, I'm fine!"

The other three froze, staring incomprehensibly at Donatello as he continued to slowly move towards the exit, his eyes never leaving those before him.

"Donatello, please my son, tell me what it is that troubles you so." Splinter gazed helplessly as Donatello, desperate to understand what was afflicting his child.

Donatello stopped briefly in the doorway, his left hand grabbing the frame as he returned the stare, a bitter, pained grimace on his face. "You haven't wanted to listen to anything I've had to say for almost two years now, Sensei. We wouldn't want to break your streak."

With that he left the dojo, ignoring Michelangelo as he rushed out of the kitchen, and headed directly for the door to the lair as quickly as he was able. He had to get out; the memories, the very atmosphere was choking him…_**please**_…he couldn't breath…_**I'm sorry**_…he couldn't think…_**so sorry**_…he had to get away!


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: Unless you don't recognize them, I don't own them. No money or other profits are being made from this attempt at entertainment. _

_Fair warning, this is going to be an Alternate Universe fic. It takes place not too long after the 2007 CGI movie, but the Shredder is still alive and well and in charge of the Foot. Other details of the original timeline may or may not also be altered as I go along._

_**Also, for the purpose of my world the ages of the Turtles are Leo, Raph, Don then Mikey (from eldest to youngest). **__Personally, I just find Leo and Raph being the two eldest makes the most sense based on personalities and the interactions between the Turtles._

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_As always, thanks for reading! And double thanks to those of you who drop reviews._

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A shocked silence followed Donatello's abrupt departure from the lair. The turtles and Splinter all stared after him for several minutes before Raphael snorted and turned away. "What the hell's his problem?"

Michelangelo looked over at his brother incredulously. "What do you think his problem is, Raph? I know I can take a pretty good guess."

"How the hell should I know what's bugging the little dweeb? Probably blew up one of his little experiments and can't face the fact that he failed."

"Shell, you're so self-absorbed! Donatello hasn't had the **time** to work on an experiment since before Leo left. The only things he's been working on lately are fixing things we broke, making things for the lair, and working on his IT help-line to support us!"

Raphael scoffed, folding his arms over his chest and sneering at Michelangelo. "Please, more like so he could lord over us how much more he was doing than the rest of us."

"Lord it over us? When have you **ever** know Donnie to lord anything over anyone? Just because he got tired of being everybody's personal punching bag…"

Leonardo, tired feeling left out of the conversation, interrupted before Raphael could respond. "What do you mean, Mikey?"

Michelangelo shrugged wearily. "While you were gone, we all pretty much took out our frustration on Donnie. Raph used and abused him…literally. Splinter ignored him when he wasn't telling him how useless he was…"

"Like you were any better!"

"I never said I was!" Michelangelo yelled, turning back to Raphael. "I admit it, I treated him like crap too. But at least I realized it and apologized. We're not totally cool yet, but at least we still hang out. When was the last time you actually talked to him, Raph?"

"That's none of your fucking business. It's not my fault; if he hadn't acted so high and mighty…"

"How did you expect him to act?! He was thrown into the position of leader, which he totally didn't want by the way, and then you did everything you could to make his life miserable! You wouldn't listen to a word he said, but when he just let you do your thing he got lectured by Splinter over what a failure he was!

"I don't know about you, Raph, but me? I would have broken completely had I been in his position. I would have just said screw you all and left it at that. But he didn't! He made things work the best he could, in spite of getting absolutely no help from any of us."

"Mikey, it couldn't have really been that bad," Leonardo insisted, trying to reason with his brother.

"How would you know, Leo? It's not like you were around," Michelangelo countered, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Shell, you couldn't even be bothered to **write** us to let us know you were ok."

"Mikey, you know why I had to leave. I'm sorry I lost touch, but things got so intense, I lost track of time, and well…I'm sorry. But I assumed that you guys would be fine with Donatello…"

"Bullshit," Michelangelo interrupted, face deadly serious. "Out of all of us, Donnie was the least able to be leader and you knew it."

"What?! Mikey, that's not…"

Michelangelo continued talking, ignoring his brother's attempted defense. "He absolutely hates to fight, and you put him in the one position that was sure to put him smack dab in the middle of any battles that came up. Even before you left he barely slept, between being our doctor, handyman, security guy and mechanic. But you piled one more responsibility on his head without even thinking twice. He operates best when he can take a step back, analyze a problem and come up with solutions. But you put him in a position where he was constantly in the spotlight.

"I have no fucking idea how you talked Splinted to agreeing with your idea…and yes, Leo I know it was your idea. Honestly, I don't think I want to know. We all know that you're Splinter's favorite. Something tells me I'm better off not knowing just how far that favor extends."

"My son…"

"Now wait a minute! Splinter would **never**…"

"Obviously, he would!" Michelangelo yelled over their protests. Turning to his Father he glared, pointing a finger at him in accusation. "You **did**! I don't know what point the two of you were trying to make, but all you wound up doing was pretty much convincing Donnie that this family thinks he's worthless.

"But you know what really ticks me off, Leo?" Michelangelo's voice turned deadly as he glared at those in the room. "What really ticks me off is that I actually **helped** you all do it. I treated him just as bad as the rest of you, until…"

It was frightening to all present to see Michelangelo's genearlly emotive face close down as it did.

"You know what, never mind. I'm not going to stand here arguing when none of you really care."

Concerned, Leonardo placed a hand on his youngest brother's shoulder. "Mikey, what is it? What happened?"

"Yeah man, it ain't like you to get so bent out of shape about nothing," Raph added, trying to wheedle an answer out of the other.

The response he received was not what he had been expecting. Michelangelo slapped Leonardo's hand off his shoulder and fixed Raphael with the angriest expression he'd ever seen from his usually jovial brother.

"Nothing…**nothing?!**…noth…I'll tell you this, Raphael, what is bothering me is **so** not 'nothing'…I only hope that the rest of you see it before it's too late."

So saying, Michelangelo made his own way towards the door of the lair. "I'm out of here. Don't follow me; I'll be back in a few. I don't really want to look at any of your faces right now. And yes, Sensei, that includes you."

Splinter and the others watched in confusion as Michelangelo followed the path Donatello had taken out of the lair.

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Donatello sighed as he looked up at the night sky. With the ambient illumination from the City there were no stars visible, but he still found a great deal of peace gazing at the moon shining like a beacon hope in the darkness…hope he desperately needed.

He dreaded going back to the lair. He knew after his abrupt departure he would be in store for at least two lectures, possibly three if Raph decided to get involved.

Why had his life become so complicated? He used to be the problem solver, not the one who caused the problems. And yet for the last two years it had seemed like all he could do was fail…at being a Leader…at being a brother…at just being.

He was so tired of it all; of feeling like he would never be good enough, of being an outsider in his own family, of never really belonging. He knew his brothers sometimes had considered him something of a robot due to how calmly he tended to act regardless of the situation, but that impression couldn't have been farther from the truth. He had feelings, very strong feelings. He was just logical enough to realize that allowing those feelings to reign over his actions was seldom in anyone's best interest.

Right now, though, he **wished** that his brothers were right…he didn't want to feel anymore; it brought nothing but pain. He just wanted it all to go away…the anger, the self-doubt, everything.

He sighed as he rose from his perch, eyes still focused on the moon above as a group of clouds moved in front of it, blocking off the soothing light and draping the world once more in the darkest of shadows.

Maybe he could find some Foot, or at least Purple Dragons, on which to vent a little of his frustration.

It seemed to work for Raphael.

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"To review; the objective of this mission is to obtain the Experimental Compound Psi-Omicron, which is currently being stored in the Experimental Explosives area of the facility, located here."

The Shredder stood at the back of the briefing room, arms crossed over his chest, face inscrutable as he watched one Hitoshi run through the night's mission.

"Teams Three and Six are to infiltrate the facility and secure the target. You have all been provided with maps of the building, highlighting the security system layout and the best route to the storage area. Teams Four and Nine will form a loose perimeter around the building at ground level. Teams Two and Fourteen will cover the roof areas of the building; Two on the high roof, Fourteen on the lower. Teams Seven, Twelve, Fifteen and Nineteen will form a perimeter on the roofs of the surrounding buildings.

"As previously noted, it is expected that the turtles will likely become aware of this endeavor. Engage them, but do not initially attempt to incapacitate. The Master wishes to be able to observe their current fighting patterns. If, however, they become a serious threat to the mission, terminate with extreme prejudice.

"Once the compound has been secured, the order will be given to retreat. Should the turtles be present at that time, Teams Four, Nine, and Fourteen will form up around Teams Three and Six and escort them back to Headquarters. The rest of you will remain behind to prevent the turtles from interfering.

"Are there any questions?" Hitoshi briefly scanned the gathered warriors. When no one made any signs of having questions, he nodded his head once. "Very well; form up with your teams and prepare to head out."

The room quickly emptied of soldiers, leaving only the Shredder and his Captain. "You will not fail me."

"Of course, Master," was the reply, a deep bow accompanying it. "You honor me with your trust in leading this mission. I will do nothing to make you regret that."

"For your sake, Hitoshi, I hope that is the case." Shredder returned, moving to leave the room with the Captain following a respectable distance behind. "I will be accompanying you on this mission; as I have stated, I wish to observe the turtles should they appear. Do not expect me to fight this battle for you, however."

Hitoshi nodded in agreement, though Saki couldn't see it or the emotionless visage that gazed respectfully at the ground. "Have no fear, Master. I will not fail."

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Shadows draped themselves across the city as the night deepened. The moon, still hidden behind the incoming storm clouds, had abandoned the night to its own devices.

Puddles of light rippled out from the streetlights, the edges of each combining with its neighbors to paint the streets and sidewalks in their orange glow.

Silently, one of the shadows disengaged from the darkness surrounding the roof exit of the building just north of TCI Chemicals, moving towards the building's edge with long-practiced grace.

Donatello looked over the parapet to see movement below: Foot soldiers guarding the perimeter of the Plant.

_Figures,_ he thought to himself, _nothing ever goes my way. I go out looking for a fight, and find a whole swarm of Foot Soldiers. There's no way I can take on a group this large by myself._

He sighed quietly as he resigned himself to having to deal with his family far sooner than he had anticipated.

Donatello silently moved farther away from the Lab to minimize the possibility of being overheard. Pulling out his shell cell, he called Leonardo.

"Donnie?"

_No, it's Einstein's ghost, _he grumbled sarcastically to himself. "Yes, Leo, it's Donatello."

"Is everything alright? Where are you? Are you hurt…"

"Leo!" Donatello cut in, louder than he had meant. Forcing down the urge to throw the cell against the nearest wall, he slowly exhaled before continuing. "I am fine. I am currently at the intersection of 5th and West 11th; there are Foot soldiers currently breaking into the TCI Chemicals Building on 5th near Washing Square Park."

"What?!" Raph's voice came through the speakers.

"Donatello, stay there," Leonardo instructed. "Do not engage. We'll be there in twenty minutes. Raph, call Mikey."

"Right, don't engage, but somehow keep them here for the next twenty minutes to give you time to arrive," Donatello mumbled quietly.

"What was that, Donnie?" Apparently not quietly enough.

"Nothing, Leo," he quickly responded, "I read you. Donatello out."

He shut the phone before Leonardo could reply and stowed it away. Leaning wearily against the wall at his back, he scrubbed his hands over his face then tipped his head back to look up at the heavens. "Fuck, I'm too tired for this."

He paused for another moment, trying to brace himself for the evening's trials, then stood upright and made his way over to the edge of the roof, intending to move to a position that would allow him to monitor the activities below.

Unbeknownst to Donatello, Saki had seen him arrive at TCI and had followed him discretely. He had not dared to get close enough to hear the hushed conversation, but he found Donatello's body language during and after the call to be fascinating…and encouraging.

"_Perhaps my elite were correct in their report. There is no doubt that Donatello appears quite frustrated with whomever he is currently speaking to. Still, it would not due to be too hasty. There is a significant difference between being slightly irritated with one brother and becoming completely segregated from all. Hopefully the rest of the mutants arrive before my Foot complete their task, that I might gather more pertinent data."_

Careful to keep his presence hidden, Saki followed Donatello.

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Donatello watched the TCI Building from the shadows of the nearest roof, keeping a careful eye on the patrolling Foot. To his dismay, only ten minutes after his conversation with Leonardo he saw a group exit the building, two of them carrying a large container with hazardous material warning signs on it between them.

"Dammit," he cursed under his breath. There was no way he could let the Foot succeed in whatever it was they were planning. He was going to have to step in and hope that his brothers arrived before he got his shell completely handed to him.

"The first priority," he mumbled to himself as he analyzed the situation, "has to be to get that container away from them. Obviously a frontal assault is out; not only can I not hope to take all of them but they could easily have a splinter group retreat with whatever that is while the rest hold me off. Hmm…"

Still thinking, he opened his bag and looked through the items he had stored in it, hoping to find something to inspire a plan. "Let's see; flash grenades, lock pick set, miniature screwdriver set, smoke bombs, hologram projector, pigeon decoy…you know, that just might work…"

Quickly looking around, making some quick calculations in his head, he nodded to himself. "Yes, I think that should work, as long as they remain disoriented enough for me to set things up…it's all I'm going to come up with, at any rate."

He removed the projector and brought up a program he had created that would cause the scene 'behind' the device to be created in front of it, making the device seem to disappear regardless of the angle from which it was viewed. He input the approximate dimensions of the container and put the device back in his bag.

He jumped over a few roofs, getting as close to the building as he dared, then threw out several of the flash grenades he carried. He covered his eyes while they went off, then quickly rappelled down the building he was on to the ground on a rope secured to a decorative column that rose up from the parapet.

Those Foot soldiers that hadn't been blinded by the grenades immediately started making their way to him when the realized he was there. Sprinting to the duo holding the container, who had been at the epicenter of the grenade blast, Donatello knocked both out before throwing down a handful of smoke bombs to cover his action and confuse the incoming Foot.

Moving as rapidly as he could, Donatello moved the container so it was up next to the wall of the building, being careful to keep it away from the door so no one would trip over it. Then he took out his projector, set it on top of the container, and initiated the program. He paused only long enough to watch as the projector and the container it sat on both seemed to disappear.

Not daring to take any longer, he ripped his bag off and held it in his arms, trying to make it look as much like the container as possible. Through the thinning smoke he saw the several Foot soldiers that were far too close for comfort. Hoping they would take the bait, he ran around the corner of the building and made for a nearby fire escape, quickly taking to the roofs as he hurried away.

Keeping the bag in his arms slowed his progress, however, and it was only a few blocks later that he found himself completely surrounded by Foot Soldiers. _Dammit, they regrouped faster than I had anticipated. The others still won't arrive for at least another five minutes. Crap._

"What did you do with the compound, turtle?" one of the approaching ninja growled.

"Right, as if I'm just going to tell you that after going to all the trouble of getting it away from you in the first place," Donatello sneered. Hoping to give his brothers more time to arrive, he decided to try to keep the Soldier talking. "How about a deal; you tell me what the Shredder is planning to do with it, and I'll consider telling you where it is."

"That is unacceptable, as you are quite aware, turtle. It appears we will have to obtain the location through more direct methods," his adversary returned. "Foot, attack!"

Donatello tossed his bag down onto the roof several feet away and pulled his bow just in time to parry a katana strike from a Foot ninja.

Spinning around with his bo extended, he forced several of the closer Foot ninja to retreat, buying a little breathing space for himself.

Less than a second later, however, he was set upon again. The first Foot that came at him was met with a striking blow from the bo in his sternum, followed by a hit to the back of his head with the opposite end that knocked him out. Using his momentum from the swing, Donatello turned rapidly, hitting a ninja coming up behind him with a kick to his chin.

Needing more space, Donatello used his bo to vault over the ring of enemies that were advancing on him. Landing on his feet, he quickly took down two Foot before they had a chance to recover, felling them with quick chops to the neck.

He back-flipped away from the approaching group, intending to make his way towards the edge of the roof, but had to jump in the opposite direction when four arrows came hurtling towards him. Only some quick bo work kept him from being skewered.

Reaching into a hidden pocket in his belt, he took out several shuriken coated in a strong sedative he had developed and hurled them at one of the archers, watching in satisfaction as two hit their target. Not pausing, he sent another volley at a second archer, removing him from the battle as well. The others had been warned of his attack, however, and the third he targeted was able to deflect and dodge the small projectiles.

Donatello made as if to throw another handful at a fourth archer, but at the last moment redirected his aim into the group of approaching Foot, managing to hit three with the unexpected attack.

Then the rest were on him again, and the battle became a flurry of punches, kicks, and flashing weapons.

Given the odds, however, the end of the battle was inevitable. While engaged with two soldiers, a third came from behind, aiming his katana for the back of Donatello's knees. At the last moment the turtle sensed his danger and dodged, but it was not enough to evade the blow completely.

"Gah!" Donatello collapsed to the ground, his left leg curled up to his body as he held it with one arm. The other was wrapped against his right shoulder where he had taken a deep cut with a naginata when dodging the hamstring attempt.

Blood was pouring from both wounds, but he forced himself to focus past the pain, knowing that if he did not keep fighting he would be meeting his end. Surely his brothers would be arriving soon. He only needed to hold out a little longer. They would come; they would save him…

Forcefully shoving all hindering thoughts from his head, Donatello grabbed his bo from where it had fallen next to him when he collapsed and forced himself laboriously upright. The Foot gathered around, preparing to deliver the finishing blow to one of their Master's despised enemies.

Captain Hitoshi moved forward, his ranks separating to allow him passage. "And so we have come to the end, turtle. You must know that your position is hopeless. Tell us what you have done with the compound, and I guarantee you a painless death."

Still leaning heavily on his bo, Donatello sneered at the Captain and forced himself into a defensive stance. "Forget it, bastard. You will get nothing from me."

"So be it," Hitoshi replied. "We will just have to get our answers from you in other ways. I have to admit, I expected nothing less from one of your ilk."

Hitoshi raised his right arm, hand fisted. Donatello noted several Foot archers on the surrounding roofs as they brought themselves into position and aimed at him. Refusing to stain his honor, he kept his gaze locked steadily on the Foot Captain as he braced himself. Dodging would do no good; he could hardly move and was surrounded by Foot. Even if he could avoid being stuck by the arrows, he would only be delaying the inevitable.

"Archers, bring him down." Hitoshi's arm came down, and Donatello's could hear the sounds of bowstrings being released.

Then he felt himself being propelled to the side, the impact had him grunting with pain even as he felt the familiar arms of his brother holding him closely. "Raphael," he acknowledge with a groan as they swung up to a higher roof, the smooth arc of their flight being tracked by the eyes left below.

Upon landing, Raphael let go of the rope he had used to save his younger brother, his arm tightening on said brother when he felt him start to collapse. "Shit, Donnie! What the hell did they do to you?"

"I'll be fine," he insisted, wishing fervently that he hadn't dropped his bo when Raphael had grabbed him so he could stand on his own.

"Like hell, you can't even stand up! What were you thinking, attacking all those Foot on your own? You got a death wish or something?" Raph's harsh words were belied by his tender hold on his brother.

Before Donatello could answer they were joined on the roof by Leonardo and Michelangelo. While Michelangelo's face held nothing but concern, Leonardo wore a mask of fury.

"I thought I told you not to engage!" Leonardo shouted at Donatello as soon as he set foot on the roof.

Donatello stared incredulously at his eldest brother. _Surely he doesn't think that I jumped into this battle for no reason? How irresponsible does he think I __**am**__?_ He clenched his teeth in anger, trying to hold back his initial response. "I wasn't given much choice, Leonardo. Contrary to your apparent belief, I am not in the habit of rushing headlong into dangerous situations without reason."

Michelangelo glared irritably at Leonardo, but a quick glance at the approaching Foot drove home the fact the current time was **not **the time to be having this discussion. "Leonardo, lay off," he ignored the startled look he got from Donatello and continued, "now **really** isn't the time. How about we hold off on fighting each other until we're done fighting the Foot?"

Pausing a moment to survey their enemies, Leonardo made a decisive nod. "You're right, Mikey. But Donatello, don't think this is over. We **will** be having a serious discussion when this is over."

Donatello, still being supported on one side by Raphael, bowed his head to hide it as he rolled his eyes in exasperated disgust at his brother's words. "Of course, Leonardo. Whatever you say."

And hidden deep in the shadows, Oroku Saki smiled.


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: Unless you don't recognize them, I don't own them. No money or other profits are being made from this attempt at entertainment. _

_Fair warning, this is going to be an Alternate Universe fic. It takes place not too long after the 2007 CGI movie, but the Shredder is still alive and well and in charge of the Foot. Other details of the original timeline may or may not also be altered as I go along._

_**Also, for the purpose of my world the ages of the Turtles are Leo, Raph, Don then Mikey (from eldest to youngest). **__Personally, I just find Leo and Raph being the two eldest makes the most sense based on personalities and the interactions between the Turtles._

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_A HUGE thanks to Kindred Spider for reviewing this chapter for me!!_

_And of course, thanks to all of you for taking the time to read this story. It is much appreciated!_

_Also, I've done some minor editing of the previous chapters. Nothing serious, mostly just fixing typos and improving the flow of certain parts. No plot elements changed._

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Hitoshi took a quick moment to glare after the retreating turtle, noticing as he did that the 'container' he carried was nothing more than a decoy. Turning his irritation to his Foot, most of whom were still floundering in the remnants of the smoke bombs, he called out, "Enough! You are warriors of the Foot clan. You will cease this stupidity and act like it!"

"Teams Three, Six, and Nine remain here and scour the area for the container; the turtle did not have it. Use all your senses, not merely your sight. You should all be aware of the level of trickery to be expected with that one.

"The rest of you are with me. We will track down the turtle and get the location of the container from him. Do **not** use lethal force; we need him. Also be on the lookout for the rest of the turtles; where one is present, the others cannot be far behind.

"Bear in mind your previous orders; the Master wishes to observe their interactions. Do not allow the purple-clad turtle to escape, however. Securing the location of the compound takes priority.

"Now, come."

With that he ran towards the nearest fire escape and made his way to the roof, leaping after the fleeing turtle.

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Hitoshi watched the battle before him in irritation. He was angry with himself for not realizing that Donatello had been delaying for time. He should have not allowed his soldiers to become so focused on Donatello; they should have easily noticed and at least delayed the approach of the others. Instead he had been so focused on getting the compound back that he had focused all save those teams searching for the container solely on the purple-clad turtle.

And now they not only did not have the turtle, but they still had not discovered what he had done with the container. With the arrival of the other three turtles, what had been a time-consuming but not impossible task became exponentially more difficult.

"Captain!" The sudden shout from his earpiece broke Hitoshi's train of thought.

Reaching up, he pressed the transmit button on the communicator in his mask. "Speak."

"Captain, we found the container," the excited Foot, Hitoshi idly identified the man as a member of Team Three, informed him. "The turtle had hidden it with a hologram right next to the door of the lab."

Hitoshi, who had not stopped his observations of the fight before him, grimaced in disgust as Leonardo easily took down four of his Foot in a matter of seconds. Sighing, he responded to the other man. "Very good. Your three teams are to return with the container to headquarters. We will keep the turtles busy. Be swift, but leave no evidence behind."

"Yes, Captain."

Hitoshi ended the transmission and considered his next course of action. The removal teams would need at least thirty minutes to make it back to headquarters, but ten would be a sufficient head start to prevent the turtles from being able to catch them.

The other turtles had arrived fifteen minutes ago; surely that was enough time for his Master to glean whatever it was he was trying to learn from this battle. He could take no chances; obtaining the compound was the highest priority for the mission.

Still, he knew that his Master had plans for the turtles, particularly Donatello. It wouldn't be in his best interests to be presumptuous. Making his decision, he activated the comm-link. "Archers, as discreetly as possible, target purple. Non-lethal darts only. All others, keep the rest engaged."

At his command, the four remaining archers removed blowguns and darts from various places of concealment. The rest of his forces continued their attacks on the turtles, doing their best to keep them from noticing the archers as they moved into better positions. When it appeared that they were all ready, Hitoshi activated him communicator once more. "Now."

Four small darts silently sped towards Donatello, who was in a carefully orchestrated stand-off with four Foot soldiers. Hitoshi was impressed to see the turtle notice and avoid two of the darts. The other two, however, made contact; one in the right shoulder, the other in the right thigh. He nodded in approval. Those would soon knock the turtle out, preventing him from explaining to the others about the compound. Hopefully they would be so interested in seeing to their brother that they wouldn't bother to follow the Foot's retreat. Or, perhaps…

"Master," he spoke into the communicator, using the channel dedicated to communications with the Shredder. "We have the opportunity to capture Donatello. Should we proceed?"

There was a long pause, and Hitoshi watched dispassionately as Donatello collapsed to the worried cries of the rest. He was preparing to ask again when the answer finally came. "No. Leave him to serve as a distraction for the others, and fall back."

"As you say, Master."

With that Hitoshi gave the command, "Foot, retreat!" He watched as his soldiers melted into the shadows, leaving the turtles unencumbered.

"Donnie!" Michelangelo shouted, immediately running to his fallen brother.

Hitoshi remained hidden, watching the other two carefully. They were still tensed, and their focus was on the departing Foot rather than on Donatello. He was preparing to call back three of his teams to delay them, as they looked to be preparing to follow, when Michelangelo called out again.

"Leo, Raph, get over here! Donnie needs help!"

Leonardo immediately turned back to his two youngest brothers, making his way to their side. Raphael, however, continued to glare into the direction the Foot had retreated until Leonardo ordered in irritation, "Now, Raph. We're going to need your help getting Donatello home. His pulse is fine, and he's breathing without any problems, but he's not responsive at all."

Hitoshi breathed a sigh of relief as Raphael growled and stalked over to join the group. "Yeah, yeah. I'm coming. Keep your shell on."

Certain now that the turtles would not attempt to follow, Hitoshi left to rejoin his soldiers.

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"The situation appears to be even better than I had hoped." Oroku Saki stood behind his desk, once again gazing out of the windows, hands clasped behind his back as he spoke to two of his most talented scientists. The two men knelt on one knee on the ground before his desk, heads bowed as they were informed of the task ahead of them.

"In my observations of the turtles, it was clear that Donatello was not comfortable with any of his brothers. He seemed particularly antagonistic towards the two eldest. They, in turn, treated him with patronization and outright contempt." Turning away from the window, he moved in front of his desk to regard the men bowing before him.

"More telling, I think, was the interactions of the group as a whole. During battle, rather than attempting to remain together and supporting one another as has been their typical modus operandi, they instead were all fighting individual battles. None of them seemed to put much effort into keeping track of the others, though when Donatello eventually went down Michelangelo did rush to his side.

"Even then, Leonardo and Raphael paused, obviously considering following my warriors to continue the battle in lieu of assisting their brother. It was quite enlightening." The smirk on his face left no doubt as to how much the Shredder enjoyed seeing the conflict within his enemies' Clan.

"I do not know…yet…what happened during the last two years when only Raphael was active, but whatever it was it has affected them all, whether they realize it or not.

"Now is the time to strike. If given time, I am certain that whatever issues exist will be resolved. They have proven in the past that their _bonds_," the word was spat out as if it actually caused physical pain, "are not so easily severed. We must move now, before they are able to heal themselves."

"What are your plans, my Lord?" One of the men asked.

"It is obvious that Donatello has begun to question his place in his Clan. I am merely going to show him that other options are available to him.

"For now you two are to put your current project on hold. You will develop for me some way to turn Donatello from his Clan. Whether that be through drugs, torture, or a combination of both I do not care."

The two scientists shared a glance between them before the elder spoke, "But Master, any brainwashing we would attempt in order to bind him to you would be temporary at best. We have not yet found a permanent, foolproof way to completely erase an individual's past and replace it with another, which is essentially what would be required in this case. Otherwise the turtle's own morals would interfere with him serving the Foot."

"Did I say anything about binding him to my cause?" The Shredder asked, glaring down at the two men. "No, you are merely to turn him away from his family. I do not even expect you to make him forget his past. We are merely going to make that past into what we want it to be.

"You will develop something…some process…that will force him to recall every slight, every hurt, every betrayal they have done him. Something that will bring every negative feeling he has ever had or suffered to the fore, and overwhelm any positive."

"But then how will you encourage him to join the Foot?" the elder scientist asked. "As we mentioned, without completely wiping out his memories his current personality and morals will remain. Even if he decides to leave his Clan, it is unlikely he would accept your invitation."

"Do not concern yourselves with such details. All you need to concern yourselves with is turning him **away** from the Hamato Clan. **I** will be the one to bring him into my service."

At this point the younger of the two kneeling men shifted nervously before speaking. "Master, I must point out that any procedure capable of achieving what you ask will be incredibly painful, both physically and mentally. The subject will be aware of who put him through such torment and why…"

"Duly noted, Doctor Ross. As I said, however, do not concern yourself with such details. You and your team are to create a process that will accomplish what I have asked. **That** is your only concern. Do not make me repeat myself again." The glare that accompanied Saki's warning had both men fearing for their lives.

"Y…yes, Master. Forgive me."

The Shredder carelessly waved his right hand, "Do not apologize, Doctor. Simply mind my words. Now, both of you, return to your lab and inform your team of their new task. I expect an update within the week."

The two men fully genuflected before the Shredder, intoning "Yes, my Lord," before regaining their feet and leaving the room.

The Shredder stared after them for several moments, not really seeing the door before him, thoughts and plans flying through his mind. Eventually he shook himself out of his reverie and sat back down at his desk.

While he was anxious to spend more time on his current scheme, until his scientists had finalized a way to turn Donatello from the Clan he was at an impasse. He had planned as much as he could for the moment. His scientists were at work and his Foot knew to continue to observe and report on the interactions between the turtles; now he could only wait.

_Which has never been a strong suit of mine._ He admitted to himself, a rueful smile on his face as he woke his computer from standby mode and went back to the tedious business of running his Clan.


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: Unless you don't recognize them, I don't own them. No money or other profits are being made from this attempt at entertainment. _

_Fair warning, this is going to be an Alternate Universe fic. It takes place not too long after the 2007 CGI movie, but the Shredder is still alive and well and in charge of the Foot. Other details of the original timeline may or may not also be altered as I go along._

_**Also, for the purpose of my world the ages of the Turtles are Leo, Raph, Don then Mikey (from eldest to youngest). **__Personally, I just find Leo and Raph being the two eldest makes the most sense based on personalities and the interactions between the Turtles._

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_Once again, thanks go to Kindred Spider for reviewing this chapter for me!!_

_I also want to thank you all for reading this story as well as for the awesome response you've given me. _

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_**Warning:**__ The following chapter mentions and deals with self-harm (cutting). If this will bother you, please do not read this chapter._

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Splinter quickly exited his room when he heard the turtles crash into the lair. "My sons, what is wrong?"

"Raph, get him to the infirmary. Mike, help him," Leonardo ordered before turning to his Father. "Donatello was injured and drugged during a battle with the Foot, Master. They were breaking into a chemical plant, so we engaged to try to stop them."

"And did you succeed, my son?" Splinter inquired, as the two moved towards the room that Donatello had set up as a makeshift hospital.

"I…I don't know, Master. The Foot retreated after Donatello collapsed, but I do not think it was because of our interference…" Leonardo's head dropped in shame at this admission.

Splinter's face gentled and he moved forward to place a hand on Leo's shoulder, pausing in the doorway. "Do not worry, my son. Whatever the Shredder's latest plot may be, we will discover it eventually and stop him. For now, let us assist your brother."

"Yes, Master."

With that they entered the infirmary. Raphael had placed Don on one of the cots in the room and was leaning against the wall next to the door, hands crossed over his chest as he watched Michelangelo examine Donatello.

"How's he doing, Mikey?" Leonardo asked as he moved over to his injured brother's side.

"He's been better, obviously," Michelangelo replied, not looking up from where he was applying pressure to the still sluggishly-bleeding wound on Donatello's thigh. They had bandaged him as best they could on the roof before moving him and, while the shoulder wound had stopped bleeding, this one was proving more difficult. "I called April to come take a look at his wounds and see if she can identify whatever was on these," he explained as he held up on the of the darts that he had grabbed as they fled back to the lair.

"Good idea," Leonardo said as he gently laid a hand on Donatello's uninjured arm and squeezed; the warmth of the skin under his hand reassured him that his brother was still alive and would heal. He didn't understand what had been going on with Donnie of late, his normally responsible and dependable brother acting anything but, but whatever it was they would have time to fix it.

Raphael held back a contemptuous snort at Leonardo's reply. He wasn't sure what was running through Leo's head, but if Fearless thought he'd just sit back and watch while their brother suffered under whatever drug the Foot had thrown into his system he had another think coming. He'd wait and see what April had to say, just in case he was needed. Eventually, though, those damn Foot would get what was coming to them. Nobody hurt his little brother.

Michelangelo observed the rest of his family as they gathered around Donatello's bed and shook his head with disgusted disbelief. _Right, so now you all care about him. Where was all this concern before?_

He didn't try to fool himself; he knew that once they were certain that Donnie would be alright things would go right back to they way they had been. It was so **frustrating**. He just didn't know what to do, Donnie was leaving them little by little and he was the only one who even bothered to notice, much less care.

He had tried to talk to them, and they just brushed him off, insisting everything was fine. They just wouldn't listen to him! All he could do, without breaking his word, was try to be there for Donnie when he needed support, and hope that he would be enough.

He sighed and shook his head again as he took Donatello's hand in his own. Sometimes being the youngest absolutely sucked.

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Two days later, Leonardo stood in the doorway to the infirmary, staring at his still comatose brother, willing him to wake up.

He had only just convinced Michelangelo to take a break from watching over Donatello to get breakfast by pointing out that if he passed out from hunger he would be of no use to anyone. As he walked deeper into the room and took the vacated chair next to the bed, he found himself wondering just when his younger brother had matured so much.

No, not when, but what it was that had caused the change. The when was obvious; so much had happened and changed while he had been away…not much of it being good or for the better in his opinion.

The quiet tapping of wood on the concrete floor warned him of his Father's approach.

"Your thoughts are troubled, my son."

"I should not have left," Leonardo replied, his gaze not leaving his brother. "I missed so much…I was needed here, and yet was thousands of miles away unknowing of what you all were going through…"

Splinter thought for a moment before replying. "It is true, that our family suffered greatly while you were away. That is not your fault, however, Leonardo. You needed to leave to find yourself again. Staying here would only have served to drive you deeper into the darkness that was overwhelming you prior to your travels…"

"And so we sacrificed someone else, so you could come brought back into the 'light,'" sneered a voice from the door.

Splinter and Leo looked over to see Michelangelo glaring at them as he moved into the room. "I've finished eating. You can leave now."

"Michelangelo, my son this anger that you hold…"

"Is completely justified!" Michelangelo yelled. "**Someone** in this family has to get angry for Donnie. He refuses to stand up for himself, just accepts whatever crap we throw at him. And none of the rest of you seem to care that he's been dying inside for the last two years…"

A snort came from behind him. Raphael stood just outside, having been drawn over from the couch in the television room by Michelangelo's shout. "Not this again. Don't you think you're being a little over dramatic?"

Michelangelo spun to face Raph, "No, I don't think so Raph. **I** care about this family…"

Leonardo could see where the conversation was heading, and broke in hoping to avoid escalation. "Mikey, you obviously know something the rest of us don't. You keep insisting that something is wrong with Donnie, but other than his panic attack earlier I haven't seen anything suspicious. What's going on?"

"Oh, come on Leo. Don't tell me you're taking him seriously…"

"Enough, Raph." Leo held his hand out, palm facing Raphael. "I want to hear what Mikey has to say."

Michelangelo shook his head sadly. They were all so blind. Even he hadn't seen how much Donnie was hurting until it was shoved in his face. But he couldn't say anything. He had promised.

"I told you before, Leo. While you were gone, Donnie became the new whipping boy for everybody." A huge sigh escaped as he continued. "You left to 'find' yourself again, to become a better leader. But Leo, you weren't the problem! At least, not just you. We're **all** to blame. But instead of us sitting down as a family and figuring things out, you left. And then Donnie was put in charge, and nothing changed except who was supposed to deal with all our crap."

"Please, he didn't do anything!" Raphael shouted, throwing his arms through the air in a negating motion. "It's not like we were patrolling, or doing anything worthwhile! He just sat in his lab all day and when he did come out acted like he was better than the rest of us because he had a 'real' job."

There was a blur of motion and suddenly Raphael was lying on the ground, a hand raised to his jaw, and Michelangelo was standing above him, incandescent with rage.

Everyone froze in shock for a moment, then Raphael, his own anger flaring up, jerkily started getting up. "What the hell, Mikey?"

As soon as Raphael was on his feet he found himself shoved roughly against the wall next to the door, Michelangelo's arm pressing against his plastron. "Don't you ever say anything like that again! Donatello has done more for this family than you've ever even **thought** about. You have no** idea** what he went through while Leo was gone, what **you** put him through."

"Michelangelo!" Splinter's voice cut through Michelangelo's angry tirade. "Release your brother and apologize for attacking him!"

Michelangelo did release Raphael and stepped away from him, his angry eyes never leaving his brother's.

"No. I will **never** apologize to him. Not when he's the biggest reason for Donnie…" Michelangelo cut himself off and spun away, moving to leave the room. "Never mind. Can one of you watch Donnie for a while? I want to give April a call and ask her to come take another look at him. I know she said that the drug was only a tranquilizer, but he should have been awake by now."

Leonardo quickly leapt towards his youngest brother and grabbed his shoulder. "Not so fast, Mikey. That's the second time you've started to insinuate that something's seriously wrong with Donnie, only to cut yourself off. I'm tired of the veiled hints that you've been throwing around. If something really is wrong with Donatello…something **specific…**.**tell** us!"

Michelangelo turned back to face his brother, though Leo quickly regained his hold on Mikey's shoulder to keep him from leaving. "I don't know what you're talking about, Leo…"

"Stop it, Mikey. You know **something**, or think you do. Tell us."

Michelangelo looked up Leo, his eyes shining with tears of frustration. "I **can't** Leo! I **promised**!"

"The hell! You mean something really is wrong?!"

"Mikey, you have to tell us," Leo gently insisted. "We can't help if we don't know what's wrong."

"I don't think you can help," Michelangelo admitted in a small voice, unconsciously leaning towards the supporting body of Leonardo. "I've been trying for months now, ever since I found out, but he's not getting any better. Sure, he hasn't had any more accidents, but he still does it, I can't get him to stop no matter what I say. He thinks he deserves it…"

"Mikey, you're not making any sense. **Please** tell us what's wrong."

Michelangelo didn't know what to do. He looked back and forth between Leonardo and Donatello, obviously torn between his honor and his desire to no longer fight whatever battle he was facing alone. Splinter and Raphael judged that Leonardo had the best chance of getting Mikey to talk and so remained silent.

"You said yourself that he's not getting better, Mikey," Leonardo wheedled, desperate now to know what was going on. "Maybe with all of us working on it, we **can** help him."

"He'll hate me," Michelangelo insisted, his head hanging down.

Leonardo enfolded him in a hug. "No, he won't Mikey. Eventually he'll realize you did the only thing you could do. He'll know that you were only trying to help him."

Michelangelo rested his forehead against Leo's shoulder and let his tears fall. He was so tired of being the only one to know, the only one to realize how bad things had become. Would it really be alright for him to tell? Would Donnie understand?

"He…he's been hurting himself," he admitted into Leo's shoulder. He could feel his eldest brother tense at his words, and he paused, afraid of the reaction they would bring.

Leonardo, however, only tightened his hold briefly, keeping Michelangelo enfolded in his arms.

"No," Splinter's pained denial interrupted anything Leo would have said. The rat turned to gaze upon his comatose son, as if to suddenly be able to see the evidence that Donatello had hidden so well.

Leonardo gave Michelangelo a nudge, encouraging him to continue. "I…I didn't notice at first. Obviously, none of us did. I knew he'd been a little more withdrawn since you left, but I figured he was just having a hard time being in charge. Which I could totally understand, cause like I said before, we were all giving him a pretty hard time. It hadn't really hit us, what you being gone would mean, until you **were** gone…

"And then there he was, trying to take your place. Only not really. It's not like he wanted the job or anything, but I don't think it mattered to any of us," Michelangelo explained with a shrug. "I know **I** didn't care. I just saw him trying to be the Leader…trying to be **you**…and it **hurt**. Especially when we stopped getting your letters…it was like if I acknowledged him, I would be giving up on you…admitting that you weren't coming back…"

Michelangelo paused here, his emotions overcoming him as more tears fell. He buried his face into Leonardo's neck, taking deep breaths infused with the scent of his eldest brother as he reminded himself that Leo was fine, and he was home.

As for Leonardo, he had to close his eyes to force back his own tears. He had not known…had not realized…just how much his leaving had hurt his family. He cursed himself once again. He honestly believed that he had needed to leave, but he should have made the effort to remain in contact for the duration of his time away. It would have been difficult, but not impossible. He should have made the extra effort.

"Anyway," Mikey's voice drew Leo out of his thoughts, "like I said, I didn't think there was anything wrong. Then I was looking for him one morning. I'd totaled one of my controllers and was hoping he could fix it. When he wasn't in his lab I figured he was just sleeping in. He hadn't been getting much sleep, so I figured it'd finally caught up with him. I knew he was supposed to be working the IT line, though, so I went into his room to wake him up…"

A heart-wrenching sob made Mikey's next words nearly intelligible. "He…he was just starting to wake up. When I walked in, he was still pretty groggy and didn't see me until after I'd seen…"

Leo once again tightened his hug, bringing one hand up to cup the back of Michelangelo's head. "What did you see, Mikey?" he asked gently.

"Blood…so much blood. It was all over his sheets. I freaked out…started yelling. That snapped him out of his funk and he tried to hide what he'd done, but by then it was too late. I made him tell me what had happened…what he'd done to himself…what he'd been doing to himself."

"**What**?!" this time it was Raph who interrupted, a look of astonishment on his face.

"That's right, Raph," Michelangelo's voice was weary with the secret he had kept from his family for so long. "He's so convinced that he's nothing but a disappointment to us…so convinced that he's stained the honor of our Clan…that he's been 'punishing' himself. We're not just talking just once or twice. Any time he thinks he made a mistake, or didn't live up to our expectations, or let us down in some way he takes it out on himself."

"There's no way…you've got to be making this shit up!" Raphael cried as he stalked to Donatello's bed and roughly jerked the wristband from his uninjured arm.

And froze in horror as he took in the ugly mass of scar tissue that was now visible.

"No…" he whispered, shaking his head to deny what he was seeing. "No, Donnie wouldn't. He couldn't! I woulda noticed!"

"When?" Michelangelo demanded. "During the day, when you were asleep and pretty much dead to the world, or at night when you were off playing Nightwatcher?"

Raphael's head jerked up as his eyes locked with Michelangelo's. "How?"

"Do you really think Donnie and I are that stupid?" Michelangelo sadly asked. "Come on, Raph. It wasn't hard to figure out. We knew you were sneaking out at night. We knew you were upset about being ordered to not patrol the City anymore. Then this crime fighter shows up, who by the way is a lot shorter and heavier set than most superheroes, but looks suspiciously like a mutant turtle.

"You even based your bike on the one Donnie built you. Did you think he wouldn't notice? And let's not get into the complete lack of effort you put into changing your fighting style. Sure, you weren't caught on tape often, but it only took one fight for Donnie and me to recognize your style. We see it every freaking day!"

Michelangelo moved to break out of Leonardo's embrace and move towards Raphael, but the elder refused to let the younger go. "Mikey, we can talk about this later. Finish your story."

Michelangelo looked up at his brother with wide eyes, "But Leo, I told you…"

"Not all of it," Leonardo interrupted, shaking his head. "Finish your story, Mikey. I promise you'll feel better. We can't hope to help Donnie until we know all of it."

Slowly nodding, Michelangelo gathered his thoughts again before continuing from where he had left off.

"Donnie…he said that he had accidentally cut himself a little too deeply that time. He promised that he hadn't meant to…He said it was the only way he could cope with the disappointment he knew he caused us…that he was only trying to make up for his failures. I tried to tell him that we didn't blame him for anything, that there wasn't anything he had to punish himself for…but then he just started spouting out things that we all had said to him. I don't know about what he said Raph and Master Splinter told him, but he was quoting **me** exactly. Word for word…every horrible thing I'd said to him…

"I didn't mean them, Leo!" Michelangelo cried, trying to make his eldest brother understand, trying to assuage his own guilt at what they'd caused their gentle brother to resort to. "I really didn't. I would never want to hurt Donnie like that!"

"I know, Mikey," Leo assured his brother, "I know you didn't mean them. And we'll make sure that Donnie knows that too, eventually."

Michelangelo looked doubtful about their chance of success, but continued to his story. "He made me promise not to tell. I didn't want to, but he threatened to leave, too. Said that one way or the other he would atone for his mistakes. I was afraid of what he meant, so I promised. But I made **him** promise not to…do that…unless I was there. I told him if he really felt he had to, I wouldn't stop him…'course I was planning on talking him out of it whenever I could…but I was just so **scared** that he would 'accidentally' cut too deep again…so I promised and he promised and after that whenever he felt like he had to punish himself he came and talked to me.

"Sometimes I really could convince him that he hadn't done anything wrong, but most of the time he wouldn't listen to me. But at least I was **there**, in case anything went wrong. And then you came back, Leo, and he stopped coming to me. But I don't know if it's because he's really stopped, or if he figures that our agreement was only for while you were gone, or…or if he thinks now that you're back he doesn't matter anymore. I've tried to talk to him about it, but he always says he's too busy and locks himself in his lab…"

"My son," Splinter spoke from his position next to Donatello, "I know you felt that you could not tell us directly what was occurring, but why did you not in some way attempt to make us aware that something was troubling your brother?"

"I **tried**!" Michelangelo screamed, forcing his way out of Leonardo's hold and glaring at his Father. "I tried telling you and Raph both as much as I could without breaking my promise. But you both just **ignored** me! "'He's fine, Mikey, he's just being a pain in the ass,'" he intoned, mimicking Raph's lower voice and accent. "'All will be well, my son, your brother simply needs to acclimate himself to his new responsibilities.' Both of you treated me as if I didn't know what I was talking about, as if I was just imagining things, or exaggerating or something. So I did the best I could by myself."

"Why didn't you come to me, Mikey?" Leo asked.

"No offense, Leo, but…well…you haven't really been the easiest guy to talk to since you've gotten back."

Leonardo felt time freeze for a moment at his brother's words. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Michelangelo started to explain, going slowly and choosing his words with care, "I know you went off to try to become a better leader and all. And you've definitely been more leader-like since you got back, with the training and patrols and meetings and all.

"But…well…it kind of seems that when you discovered how to be a leader you might have…forgot…a little…how to be a brother?" Mikey turned his statement into a question, not sure if he was adequately getting his feelings on the matter across, but unable to come up with a better way to express his thoughts. He didn't want to hurt his brother, but he just hadn't been very comfortable around him since he'd come back.

Leonardo didn't know what to say. Had he really forgotten that he was a brother as well as a leader? That this was his family, not a band of soldiers at his command? His gaze first went to his Father, but the rat's inscrutable stare told him nothing. Then he looked to Raphael, who met his look with a shrug…not necessarily agreeing with what Michelangelo had said, but not disagreeing either.

He thought back on his actions since his return, trying to come up with at least one time when his thoughts had been that of a brother first, desperate to prove his younger brother wrong.

Only to find that he could not.


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer: Unless you don't recognize them, I don't own them. No money or other profits are being made from this attempt at entertainment. _

_Fair warning, this is going to be an Alternate Universe fic. It takes place not too long after the 2007 CGI movie, but the Shredder is still alive and well and in charge of the Foot. Other details of the original timeline may or may not also be altered as I go along._

_**Also, for the purpose of my world the ages of the Turtles are Leo, Raph, Don then Mikey (from eldest to youngest). **__Personally, I just find Leo and Raph being the two eldest makes the most sense based on personalities and the interactions between the Turtles._

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_As always, a huge thanks to Kindred Spider for reviewing this chapter for me!!_

_I also want to thank you all for reading this story as well as for the fantastic response you've given me. _

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_**Warning:**__ The following chapter mentions self-harm (cutting). If this will bother you, please do not read this chapter._

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"Are you certain this will work?" the Shredder demanded, glancing through the documents that had been placed before him. He was sitting at his desk in Foot Headquarters, the two scientists that were leading the team he had put to work on developing a 'brainwashing' technique stood before him, heads bowed in respect.

"Yes, Master," the younger, Doctor Ross, responded, his voice clearly expressing his enthusiasm. "The techniques outlined in this report will without a doubt cause the subject to question and ultimately turn from his Clan.

"The initial torture has been proven throughout history as a capable method of reducing the mind's defenses. The drugs we have developed will further weaken his mind and bring to the forefront of the subject's awareness any memories associated with the feelings of familial betrayal and hurt. These memories will play repeatedly at random intervals in the subject's mind. As time passes, the target will become less and less able to determine the difference between reality and said delusions.

"The next stage is perhaps the most vital. Combining drugs, pain, pleasure, the scenes of familial betrayal we will have recorded from his mind in the previous stage and carefully selected additional scenes of our own creation will be what causes the final break between the subject and his Clan. At the completion of this stage the subject will be overwhelmed by his own negative emotions. He will no longer find any joy or comfort in memories of his Clan, and will turn from them accordingly."

While the younger had been speaking, Saki had noticed the older of the two scientists, Doctor Boyle, looking grim and occasionally shaking his head at his comrade's words.

"Doctor Boyle, you disagree?"

"I do not wish to give you false information, Master," the man explained. "Without an actual test subject, which was obviously not possible in this case, we simply cannot be certain that the process will produce the desired results. Based on the tests we have run with the blood and tissue samples you provided, we can be approximately 87% certain that the drugs at least will work as predicted, but I would rather give you the complete picture rather than false confidence.

"I also suspect it will be more difficult to turn the target against his Clan than Doctor Ross has assumed. The Hamato Clan has proven to be a closely-knit group, no doubt thanks to their shared conditions in addition to the deep familial bonds that they seem to have. The target in particular has shown himself to be incredibly patient and forgiving with those he considers 'family.' Additionally his intelligence cannot be ignored. The procedures will need to be executed with the utmost precision and care to prevent the target from becoming aware of our intentions too soon. If that happens prior to the final stage being reached, I anticipate that the target will manage to defeat all efforts of the final stage unless we take those measures to such a level that we would risk causing permanent damage to his brain and/or body."

"I see," Saki slowly replied, turning to Doctor Ross. "And you did not think these items important enough to warn me?"

The younger scientist swallowed, trying to wet his suddenly dry mouth. "M…Master, I…I would **never** intentionally mislead you. I was merely trying…"

"Enough. I will listen to no more of your excuses. Take this as your one warning, Doctor," the Shredder spoke, nodding to two Foot soldiers that had come up behind Ross while he had been speaking. Striking faster than either doctor could react, one of the Foot grabbed Ross' right wrist in an iron grasp and held his hand down on a corner of Saki's desk. Saki nonchalantly moved the stack of papers nearest that corner to the other side of the desk.

"Master, no! Please!" Ross pleaded, desperately trying to free himself.

"I advise you to hold still, Doctor," the Shredder commented while the second Foot soldier drew a small dagger from his boot, "you wouldn't want him to miss and slice your wrist open by mistake. Bear your punishment with what honor you have."

Ross whimpered as the Foot holding him uncurled his hand from the fist he had clenched it into and held his pinky finger out straight on the desk. The second Foot brought the dagger up and quickly sliced the finger off his hand.

"Argh!" Ross cried, bringing his bleeding hand, which the first Foot soldier had released once the 'punishment' was completed, up to his chest and cradling it in his other hand. The Foot, meanwhile, had pulled out a dark cloth and cleaned up the blood that had spilled onto the Shredder's desk. Then he picked up and wrapped the finger in the cloth, silently leaving the room.

The Shredder turned back to the files on his desk. "As I said, consider this your warning, Doctor Ross. Do not attempt to keep information from me in the future. I do not appreciate being kept in the dark, irregardless of the reasons."

It took the remaining Foot soldier prodding Ross, who was crying over his hand while desperately trying to stop the bleeding, with his dagger for him to reply with a shaky, "Y…yes, Master. I u…understand."

"Excellent. You are both dismissed. I will study your findings and let you know if I have any questions in the near future."

"Yes, Master," both men spoke, though Ross' voice still shook. They bowed and left the room, followed discretely by the remaining Foot soldier. The Shredder, meanwhile, turned back to his scientists' finding, one more strand being added to the intricate weaving in his mind.

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Raphael silently took in the sight of Donatello as he lay nearly motionless on the medical cot. His wristbands and elbow- and kneepads had been removed and under all of them they had discovered masses of scars and still healing cuts, obviously self-inflicted. Wounds on top of wounds on top of wounds. Raph never would have guessed that you could hide so many scars under the minimal area covered by their protective gear but, once again, Donnie had proved him wrong.

Steeling himself, he moved closer to his younger brother and placed a shaking hand on Don's forehead, stroking it gently as he used to do to encourage him to sleep years ago.

"Hell, Donnie," he sighed, his head dropping in defeat as his unoccupied hand came up to rub at his own eyes. "I fucked everything up, didn't I? Now you hate me, and you think I hate you, and you're punishing yourself for things that ain't even your fault…and I…I don't got a clue how to fix this.

"But dammit, Donnie! Why the hell do you have to be so damn sensitive? You **know** what I'm like better than anybody else. You should've known that I was just venting, that I didn't mean what I was saying."

Donatello's scarred, unconscious form remained silent but somehow still managed to reprimand his brother.

"Fuck," Raphael muttered as he collapsed onto the bedside chair. "I know, I know. I'm just making excuses for myself again…"

Taking a deep breath, Raphael started again. "Look Donnie, I'm sorry. I never meant to be such a jerk, 'specially to you. Mikey was right; it's not like you asked to be put in charge. But I was too pissed off to see that you were really the one with the shitty end of the deal. I hated that Leo was gone and that Splinter didn't trust me enough to take over, and I took it out on you..."

Raphael paused as he made a realization that shocked him, though he imagined it probably shouldn't. "I…I guess I was scared. You've always been there for me, listening to me vent, teaching me about mechanics. I'd like to think I returned the favor, watching your back, helping out with the van and bikes and letting **you** vent when one of the others got on your nerves. Heh, we middle kids always stuck together. I felt…special, I guess, being the one you relied on like that…it felt good to be your 'big brother'…

"And then you weren't my little brother anymore, you were my leader. I guess I didn't know how to deal with that. You didn't come to me anymore; not that I blame you with the way I was acting. But it was like you didn't need me anymore…and that…that scared the hell out of me…it was like you were leaving me, too…"

Raphael let out a weary sigh and folded his arms before him on top of the bed, then leaned down to rest his forehead on them. "Damn, how the hell did we all get so messed up?"

He stayed in that position for several minutes, letting his brother's steady breathing lull him into a relaxed, meditative state. He was never one to sit still for long, however, and eventually sat back up, taking a long look at his brother, scars and all. He grasped Donatello's left hand firmly between both of his.

"I swear, Donnie, I'll make this right somehow. I promise…"

"Mmn…" a moan interrupted Raphael's soliloquy. Looking down quickly, Raphael noticed that Donatello's face had scrunched into an expression of discomfort. Next came a slight shifting of his head.

"Donnie, you up?" Raph asked, trying to maintain a calm tone of voice. He did not receive an answer. "Come on, Donnie. It's time to wake up." Still no answer was received, though Donatello did turn his head in Raphael's direction. "That's it, Donnie. You can do it."

With bated breath, Raphael watched his brother's form gradually become more and more animated until finally his doe brown eyes opened to half-mast. He could see Donatello looking blearily around the room, as if not quite sure as to his location. Then those eyes landed on Raphael himself.

"R..Raph?" he croaked out through his dry throat.

"Hey, Donnie," Raphael greeted him, still fighting to keep his calm demeanor lest he frighten his brother. "How ya feeling?"

"Groggy…thirsty…" Donatello responded after taking a moment to consider the question. He tried to move to sit up, but Raphael reached over, grabbing his shoulders in a firm but gentle grip, and forced him back down onto the bed.

"Take it easy, Donnie. It's alright. I've gotcha."

"Water?" Donatello asked, gazing hopefully up at his brother.

"Sure thing, gimme a sec," Raphael replied. He got up from his chair and made his way over to one of the lab tables nearby where his earlier lunch still rested untouched. He grabbed the glass of water and went back over to the bed. He carefully helped Donatello sit up and drink from the glass, allowing only small sips to be had at a time.

"That's it, Donnie, take it easy," he encouraged, heartened to see his brother looking a little more aware, although still very tired.

Finally Donatello had had his fill, and turned his beak away from the glass. Taking the hint, Raphael placed the glass on the floor near his chair and turned back to his brother.

"Better?"

Donatello nodded. "Wha…what happened? Is everybody alright?"

"Yeah, we're all fine, Donnie. It was you we were worried about," Raphael explained, itching to retake his brother's hand but not wanting to appear soft now that he was awake.

"Hmm…s'good. Glad you're all ok," Donatello spoke, his voice weary and his eyes drooping until they were almost completely closed.

Raphael could tell that Donnie wouldn't be able to stay awake much longer, but he had one question he had to ask his brother now, while he was too out of it to avoid the question.

"Donnie, hey Donnie, wake up for me. I need to ask you something."

With obvious effort, Donatello opened his eyes up a fraction and looked up at his brother. "Hmm?"

Taking a deep breath, Raphael pushed forward. "Donnie, I know I've been a bastard to you, but do you think you can forgive me? I never meant to hurt you, bro, you gotta know that…"

"s'stupid," Donnie yawned, closing his eyes as sleep beckoned. "N'thin t' forgive. Yer m' big brother. Always love ya."

With that he fell back asleep, leaving a shocked Raphael staring at him in disbelief as the words just spoken set in. Finally Raphael closed his eyes to marshal his control and swallowed deeply before reopening them, leaning over his brother, and kissing him softly on the forehead.

It was only by supreme effort that Raphael continued to keep his tears at bay, though they were apparent in his voice, as he replied, "Love you, too, little bro."


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer: Unless you don't recognize them, I don't own them. No money or other profits are being made from this attempt at entertainment. _

_Fair warning, this is going to be an Alternate Universe fic. It takes place not too long after the 2007 CGI movie, but the Shredder is still alive and well and in charge of the Foot. Other details of the original timeline may or may not also be altered as I go along._

_**Also, for the purpose of my world the ages of the Turtles are Leo, Raph, Don then Mikey (from eldest to youngest). **__Personally, I just find Leo and Raph being the two eldest makes the most sense based on personalities and the interactions between the Turtles._

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_I know this chapter is really short, but ending it where I did just felt right. Blame my muse._

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Baxter Stockman glared with intense hatred at his Master as the man detailed the Doctor's part in his latest plot. The nerve of the man! To barge into his lab, destroying the experiment he had been conducting, and then demand that he join his little acting troop to ensnare this so-called "genius" turtle. As if the stupid amphibian could even **hope** to match his brilliance!

The Shredder finally completed the debriefing, at which point Stockman asked the foremost question in his mind. "Why me? You know biological experiments are not my forte. Surely there are others better suited…"

"I am well aware of your failings, Doctor," the Shredder interrupted. "That is why I have others under my employ developing the process itself. You only need to follow their direction."

"And take the fall if it doesn't work, regardless of who is truly to blame," Stockman grumbled under his breath.

Unfortunately for him, the Shredder heard his comment. He grabbed Stockman's robotic body and lifted it off the table until the two were at eye level. "Do not tempt me, Doctor. Your past failures, combined with your irritatingly capricious loyalty have left you quite nearly expendable.

"But, because you and your past betrayals are well known to the turtles, you make a convenient lead player for the next act. Should you succeed in the task placed before you, I may reevaluate your usefulness. Fail and you will find yourself terminated…permanently."

The Shredder threw Stockman roughly to the ground. His robotic legs scrambled to steady themselves on the metallic floor for a moment before their sharp ends found purchase. Saki continued to speak, not deigning to notice.

"You will have two teams of my robot Foot at your disposal; there should be no issue with convincing the turtles that you have reprogrammed them to serve you. You will make it appear as if you have taken Donatello prisoner and are attempting to brainwash him into joining you in order to get revenge on me. You will provide a very convincing performance, Doctor."

"And if the turtles don't believe this fairy tale you're concocting?" Stockman sneered up at the other man.

"For your sake, Doctor, they had better," the Shredder stated before turning to the door and making his way out of the lab. Just outside, he stopped and turned back to face the Doctor.

"And Stockman? If you dare to even consider betraying me I can assure you that you will not live to see another day." Saki then pressed a button on the controller he had surreptitiously removed from a pocket and sent searing jolts of electricity racing through Baxter, watching in pleasure as his face crumpled in pain and his robotic body twitched helplessly. Finally, after nearly a full minute, he released the trigger. "Your every action will be monitored. Do not forget this warning."

Still twitching in spite of his attempts to regain control of his body, Stockman waited until the Shredder had left and the door had closed behind him. "Oh, don't worry **Master**. I will most assuredly not forget."

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The next time Donatello awoke it was to find Leonard sitting at his bedside, a book open in his hands.

"Leo?"

Placing an old leather bookmark in his book, Leonardo set it on a nearby table and turned to his brother.

"Hey," he softly replied, "how are you feeling?"

Donatello took a moment to consider the question, taking stock of his body while his mind lost the fog of sleep. "Good," he finally answered, "my leg and arm hurt a little, but other than that I'm fine."

"Good. That's good," Leonardo smiled. "You've been out for almost three days. We were starting to get worried."

"Three days! What…what happened?"

"What's the last thing you remember?" Leonardo asked, concerned with this apparent memory loss.

"I was…there was a lab…the Foot were attacking…I was waiting for you guys, but then several soldiers came out with some compound and they were getting ready to leave. I knew I had to delay them, so I caused a distraction, hid the compound, and ran…but they caught up to me. There was a battle…but I don't remember anything beyond that…"

Leonardo couldn't help but feel guilty after hearing his brother's halting explanation for why he had engaged the Foot. He should have known better than to think that Donatello had gone off half-cocked. That wasn't his style. He always had a reason for his actions.

"You're right, there was a fight. You were hurt before we were able to arrive," Leonardo explained, gesturing to Donatello's injured leg and arm.

Only after seeing the look of horror on Donatello's face did he realize his mistake.


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer: Unless you don't recognize them, I don't own them. No money or other profits are being made from this attempt at entertainment. _

_Fair warning, this is going to be an Alternate Universe fic. It takes place not too long after the 2007 CGI movie, but the Shredder is still alive and well and in charge of the Foot. Other details of the original timeline may or may not also be altered as I go along._

_**Also, for the purpose of my world the ages of the Turtles are Leo, Raph, Don then Mikey (from eldest to youngest). **__Personally, I just find Leo and Raph being the two eldest makes the most sense based on personalities and the interactions between the Turtles._

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_A special thanks to __**Kindred Spider**__ for helping me through the minor meltdown I had trying to write this chapter._

_I've rewritten it several times without getting to something I was happy with, but she finally convinced me that it wasn't as bad as I was making it out to be, with some minor tweaking. I'm still not sure how happy I am with the finished result, but decided to put my trust in her (though she didn't read through the final version, so if it does stink it is my fault, not hers)._

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_**Warning:**__ The following chapter mentions self-harm (cutting). If this will bother you, please do not read this chapter._

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For several heartbeats, Donatello could only stare in horror at his exposed scars. _NO, NO, NO NO_…the mantra repeated continuously in his head. Panicking, he attempted to leap up and run from the room, only to suffer a dizzy spell, nearly blacking out as he collapsed.

Only Leonardo's quick reflexes enabled him to catch his brother before he crashed onto the floor, but no sooner had he wrapped his arms around Donatello than he started thrashing in his arms. "No, no, let me **go**! Let me go!"

"Donnie, Donnie, easy. It's me, Leo. Take it easy!" Leonardo tightened his grip on his brother as his struggles only increased.

"No! Don't touch me, damn you! Leave me alone!" Donatello kicked back at Leo's knee, attempting to take him down or at least unbalance him enough to allow him to free himself. Leonardo was able to raise his leg and take the blow on his calf instead without losing his balance. Before Donatello was able to take advantage of his less-stable stance, Leo regained his footing. He was at a loss to understand what was going on, but was thankful Donatello was still weak and sluggish from his ordeal. With desperation lending his younger brother strength, it was all Leo could do to maintain his hold.

"Donatello, **please**, calm down! I only want to help you," Leonardo pleaded, not understanding why his brother was reacting so violently.

"And what if I didn't want your fucking help?!" Donatello retorted, throwing his head back in an attempt to head-butt Leo, which was read and avoided. Leo made a note to himself to work with Donnie on not telegraphing his moves, even when upset, when things had calmed down.

"I was doing **fine** on my own," Donatello continued, "I've **always** done fine on my own. I **don't** need any of you sticking your heads into my business now, pretending that you care!"

"Donnie…" Leonardo was stunned. He had no idea what to say, how to act. The venom in Donatello's voice…directed at him, at their family…what had happened to his calm, understanding brother? How had things possibly descended so far?

"Leo, what's going…" Michelangelo's voice preceded him as he was drawn into the room by the commotion. Upon seeing Donatello awake and aware…and very upset…he cut off in mid-sentence, staring at his brother in relief and confusion.

"**You!**" Donatello shouted, his still muddled mind assuming, in this case correctly, that Michelangelo had alerted the others as to his cutting. He lunged for his younger brother, wanting to hurt him as much as he himself hurt, only to be held back by Leonardo. "How could you? I **trusted** you. You promised you wouldn't tell them anything, damn you! You **promised**!"

"Donny, please," Michelangelo plaintively cried, reaching towards his brother only to abort the motion when he realized that in his current state of mind, moving to within striking distance would be a very bad idea. "I didn't want to, but you need help! You won't stop and nothing I said was working!"

"For the last time, I am perfectly fine! I don't need help from **any** of you!" The hatred directed at him by Donatello's glare speared Michelangelo's heart, causing him to actually gasp out in pain.

"My son, surely you do not truly believe that."

The three turtles turned towards the voice of Splinter to see that he and Raphael had entered the now crowded room.

"Well, well, the gang's all here," Donatello sneered. Noticing that Leonardo had relaxed his hold upon the interruption of their father, he gave a hard shove and was finally able to extricate himself from Leonardo's grasp. Without the support he stumbled slightly, but quickly moved back to the bed, resting a hip against it to help maintain his balance.

His anger still burned hot, running like lava through his veins, but under that lay deep confusion and pain. This was why he hadn't wanted the others to know about his absolutions. He knew that they wouldn't…couldn't understand. They weren't like him. Even among other freaks, he didn't fit in. Would never fit in…

Why couldn't they see? He deserved to be punished. He was never good enough, never fast enough, strong enough. They agreed with him, he knew they did. Cutting was the only way he could make the guilt go away, even if it was only temporarily. It was the only thing that gave him any peace; that quieted the voices screaming in his head of disappointment…

Eyes still a bit wild, he took a moment to survey the room. The only door was blocked by Splinter and Raphael. Both were watching him cautiously, but without any extreme emotions visible on their faces. While this was expected in the case of Splinter, it was decidedly **unexpected** for Raphael. Not for the first time, Donatello wondered at what was running through his brother's head.

Leonardo was closest to him, still standing where Donatello had left him and watching his younger brother with wary concern, almost as if he expected Donatello to pull a blade out of thin air and attack either the others or himself.

It was Michelangelo that caused his heart to clench in pain, however. His younger brother was standing near the middle of the room, staring at him with tears streaming down his face. He hated to see his little brother cry, especially when he was the cause.

"Why did you tell them?" he demanded of his orange-banded brother, though it came out more as a weak plea. He was too weak…to tired…for this. Whatever had happened to him during the fight, he had not yet fully recovered. His legs only grudgingly held him upright and his thoughts were irritatingly slow and muddled. Tears of frustration sprang to his eyes, though he stubbornly held them back. He would not show even more weakness. He would maintain at least that much dignity.

Feeling cold and isolated, he brought his arms up, enfolding himself in their embrace. "Why, when you promised you wouldn't?"

Michelangelo opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by their Father.

"My son, your brother only did what he thought was best." Splintered moved towards Donatello, his hand out to place on the turtle's shoulder.

Before he could, however, Donatello turned away, fear and adrenaline giving him a second wind as he maneuvered around his Father and stood off to the side, facing the room at large. Though he was now stuck between Raphael and Splinter, at least one barricade between himself and escape had been removed.

Splinter dropped his hand to join his other on the top of his cane. His head sagged, weighed down at the guilt of seeing his son flee his touch, and he wondered yet again how he could have possibly missed seeing that Donatello had been in so much pain.

"What was best?" Donatello shouted. "How can you possibly say that? He thought it was best to betray my trust? That it was best to go back on his word?"

"My son, please listen to me! Your brother **did** do what was best. This hurt that you are causing yourself, this pain that you carry inside, it is not right…"

"Bullshit! For the past two years all I've heard is how worthless I am, how I just don't measure up to Leonardo, to **any** of you! Even before that, I was never good enough for this Clan. No matter what I did, how hard I worked, what I gave…all that mattered was that I was the weakest fighter. You treated me as nothing but a disappointment, as a second class citizen, not worthy of true membership in the Clan!"

"Don't yell at Master Splinter," Leonardo demanded angrily, striding up to Donatello and poking him in the chest with a finger. "All he's trying to do, all **any** of us are trying to do is **help** you. Stop overreacting to everything…"

"Overreacting?" Donatello interrupted, slapping Leonardo's hand away and stepping closer to his eldest brother. He glared up into his face, spittle flying from his mouth as he snarled, "Overreacting?! And how, pray tell, did you arrive at that conclusion, oh glorious leader? You haven't even **been here** for the last two years. Or have you forgotten?"

Leonardo's face heated in embarrassment at being called out. The conversation was not going at all how he had expected. Once again he wondered at the change in his brother, who was acting more like Raphael than the cool, logical Donatello he knew. And Raphael was just leaning against the wall, watching with calm, rational eyes. It was more than a little disconcerting to Leonardo. It seemed that the whole world had gone crazy while he was gone, and it left him feeling uncertain and off-balance.

He knew he couldn't let that show, however. He had to be the confident one, the strong one, the Leader. Otherwise the last two years would be nothing but a waste of time, and he would not allow them to be meaningless, especially after seeing how much his family had suffered while he had been gone.

He would take control of this situation. He would prove to Donatello that it wasn't necessary for him to punish himself, that he was taking things too far…

"No, Donnie. I admit; I wasn't here. But I **have** been the leader for years. I've faced the same problems and challenges you did. You don't see me becoming so upset that I stoop to cutting myself up out of some misplaced sense of guilt."

Donatello could only stare at his brother, shocked and yet also feeling strangely exhonerated by his cruel words. He knew it. He knew that he was a failure…useless…unwanted…

Raphael had had enough. He had made a promise to himself and his little brother to make things right, and he intended to keep it.

"Nah, you just got so upset that you decided to run away and go awol for two years. Personally, Leo, I'd say you don't have much room to talk."

The entire room turned to look at Raph, still leaning against the wall next to the door, arms folded over his chest. "'Sides, you've always had Splinter backing you up. We all know nine times outta ten he's gonna take your side when any fights come up between us. He basically threw Donnie in the deep end without water wings and stood back to see if he'd manage to swim."

Donatello could only gape in astonishment, flustered at being defended by Raphael, who for two years had not had a kind word for him, had seemed to resent his very existence. A small kernel of warmth sprang to life deep in his heart for a moment before he ruthlessly crushed it. He should now better by now. Raphael wasn't defending him, he was only arguing with Leonardo as he had always done. That to do so he had to seem to stick up for Donatello meant nothing. He had made his true feelings towards his younger brother very clear. Donatello refused to allow himself to believe otherwise; refused to allow himself to hope. He did not think he would survive another disappointment.

"And let's not forget the support that Donnie himself gave you," Raphael continued, ignorant of the battle raging within Donatello. "Coming up with inventions and ideas to save our bacon all the time, being there for you to run ideas past. Donnie didn't have none of that while you were gone. He was fighting, on his own, to keep this Clan together while we all did our best to tear it apart. So don't you **dare** compare his time as Leader to yours."

Leonardo was beyond confused. How did he wind up being the bad guy? He hadn't taken the knife to Donatello. He was only trying to make him see that what he was doing was wrong. "Look," he sighed, "I don't understand why we keep dwelling on the matter of who made the better Leader. I thought we were going to talk to Donatello about his cutting? We know now that he can't handle a position of Leadership within the Clan. Forget the details, it's obviously just not healthy for him. So he's not going to be put in the situation again. Problem solved. Can we move on to the more important issue now?"

Michelangelo gave an uncharacteristic snarl and rushed forward to shove Leonardo in his chest. "Don't you **dare** talk about him like that! You weren't here. You have no **idea** how hard we all made it for him. You think Raph gives **you** grief? That was **nothing** compared to the hell he put Donnie through. And, unlike you who have Donnie and Master Splinter to fall back on, he didn't have **anyone** supporting him!"

Donatello couldn't take it anymore. Why were they trying to offer him hope, trying to convince him that they cared, when he knew that they didn't? Why were they so set on breaking him? Did they truly hate him so much? Were they that determined to turn him into the servant they so often treated him as?

"So now you both are on my side?" he snorted, glaring back and forth between Michelangelo and Raphael with watery eyes. He wasn't sure **what** he was feeling anymore, so many emotions were roiling around inside his mind. "Where was all this support when I needed it?! Don't think you have me fooled. None of you actually care about me. You're just upset because you don't want to lose the perk of having your own handyman."

"Donnie," Michelangelo cried, turning to his brother, reaching his right hand out, "that's not true! You **can't** believe that! You're our brother! We love you!"

Donatello snorted in contempt, moving away from the reach of yet another member of his family. Anger and pain; disappointment and sadness; guilt and that slim sliver of hope that refused to be destroyed all warred inside, confusing him and leaving him feeling small and vulnerable. And so he lashed out, desperate to make his brothers stop confusing him with words and actions so very different from those to which he had become accustomed.

"Really? You all certainly have an odd way of showing it. 'Donnie, fix this!" he sneered, "'Donnie, make me this,' 'Donatello, I'm disappointed in you. It is up to you to set the example for your brothers to follow.' Argh!" he shouted, bringing his hands to his head only to fling them out again at his next sentence. "It never **ends**! The whining, the demands, the complaints…

"Contrary to apparent common opinion, I am just as much a member of this Clan as the rest of you; I contribute as just much as the rest of you, if not more, to its well being.

"I have provided us with security, food and water, and creature comforts. I serve as doctor, psychologist, repairman, and a myriad of other positions and yet no matter **how much** I do for this Clan, it is **never** enough! I am granted only ridicule, ingratitude and broken promises, and I **cannot** take it anymore.

"I am **DONE.** The hired help is putting in his resignation, effective immediately!"

With that he rushed past the startled Raphael and left the room, slamming the door shut behind him as he fled. Seconds later, they all heard the door to the lair close behind him as well.

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In his private dojo, Oroku Saki sat in the lotus position on a small, thin mat that covered the bamboo floor in one corner of the room, meditating after his evening workout. Android and Utron eyes were closed as his mind floated in the calming nothingness. Black training pants set off the pale synthetic skin of the bared torso, a slight sheen of artificial sweat reflecting the light from the glowing candles he had lit before entering his trance.

Suddenly the phone installed on the wall next to the door rang, interrupting his peace. Sighing deeply, he stretched his tentacles over his head, android arms following the motion with a slight arching of the back. Two sets of eyes, one fathomless black, the other red as blood, opened. A single thought, and his body gracefully rose from the mat and walked over to the still ringing phone.

"Yes?"

He listened as the person on the other end spoke, a deviously evil smile working its way onto his face. "Excellent. Inform Doctor Stockman."

Receiving an affirmative, he hung up the phone, self-satisfied smile still on his face.

"Soon, Donatello. Very soon, you will be mine."


	10. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer: Unless you don't recognize them, I don't own them. No money or other profits are being made from this attempt at entertainment. _

_Fair warning, this is going to be an Alternate Universe fic. It takes place not too long after the 2007 CGI movie, but the Shredder is still alive and well and in charge of the Foot. Other details of the original timeline may or may not also be altered as I go along._

_**Also, for the purpose of my world the ages of the Turtles are Leo, Raph, Don then Mikey (from eldest to youngest). **__Personally, I just find Leo and Raph being the two eldest makes the most sense based on personalities and the interactions between the Turtles._

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A muffled sob turned the heads of those left in the room from the closed door to their youngest member.

Michelangelo collapsed to the ground, bringing his knees up to hide his face and his tears while he curled his arms up over his head and began to rock back and forth slightly. "He hates me…he **hates me**!"

"Easy, Mikey," Leonardo spoke, kneeling at his brother's side and wrapping his arms around him. "He didn't mean it. He's confused and hurting right now, but he doesn't hate you."

"Didn't you **hear** him, Leo?" Michelangelo asked, looking up into Leonardo's face, tears streaming from his eyes. "His voice…he was so angry…he'll never forgive me…"

"He will, Mikey. Eventually he'll realize that you did the only thing you could. Don's too logical not to eventually see reason."

Michelangelo snorted, refusing to relax into Leonardo's hold, though he didn't move out of it either. "How would you know? Since you've gotten back, have you even tried to sit down to talk to him? When was the last time you actually **listened** to him, rather than just lectured to him? I don't think you have any idea who Donnie is anymore."

"Come on, Mikey. It's Don," he shrugged, as if that was answer enough. "There's no way he could have changed that much."

Michelangelo just shook his head. "You just don't get it, Leo. We **all** changed while you were gone. None of us are the same as we were before you left, and you can't keep treating us as if we are. Donnie especially."

Finally pulling himself from Leo's arms, Michelangelo stood and walked towards the door, pausing for a moment in the doorway, his left hand resting against the frame, head facing out of the infirmary. "I'm gonna be in my room. I'd appreciate it if you didn't bother me unless Don calls in."

So saying, he exited and morosely walked to his room, closing the door firmly behind him and collapsing onto his bed. He buried his face in his pillows, wrapping his arms around them, and just cried.

Leonardo, meanwhile, was still kneeling on the floor of the infirmary. His hands were fisted on his knees and he stared down at the floor without really seeing anything. Michelangelo's words were floating through his head. This wasn't the first time his youngest brother had said something of this nature to him. He had ignored him the first time, allowing the worry and disappointment of Donatello's condition to push those thoughts to the back of his head.

This latest debacle brought them to the fore once again, however. Michelangelo was right. Since he had returned, he hadn't bothered to try to sit down and just talk with any of his brothers. His sole focus was the team; bringing them all back up to fighting as one devastating unit, imparting order, discipline…always a leader. Not once had he acted or thought like a brother should.

"My son," Splinter spoke, moving to Leonardo's side and laying a paw on his bowed head, "do not despair."

Leonardo's head remained bowed; as Splinter watched, tears began to fall from tightly closed eyes. "But Master Splinter, Mikey's right," Leo argued, his voice choked with emotion. "My actions…my decisions since I've gotten back; they may have been those of a Leader, but they were not those of a **brother**. In these past two years, all I've focused on, all I thought about, was how to be a better leader; I honestly don't know if I even remember **how** to be a brother anymore."

"The listen to your brothers, my son," Splinter instructed, rubbing his paw fondly along Leonardo's head. "Let them teach you what you have forgotten, while you teach them what you have learned."

Leonardo absently nodded his head, acknowledging the wisdom of Splinter's words, yet preoccupied with his next question. He didn't want to ask…he didn't want to know…didn't want to even contemplate it being true…yet he knew ignoring the matter would benefit no one. Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, gathering his emotions and taking control of them once more, he asked, "Master…is what the other have said true? **Did** you abandon Donatello?"

Splinter sighed. He knew that sooner or later, Leonardo would be asking this question. "Leonardo…I am far from perfect. I have made mistakes. I have acted in ways that bring me great shame to admit. None of my past mistakes, however, hurt me as greatly as my actions while you were away. I offer no excuse."

Leonardo felt more tears fall as his worst fears were realized. It was true. Donatello had been alone, without support. His own family had abandoned him. And all he, Leonardo, had done since his return was criticize and lecture Donatello over the failings in his performance, without even questioning the whys. He had assumed it had been Donnie's fault, Donnie's failure. When the truth was, they had all failed as a family; they all shared in the blame…

"But Master Splinter, why?" Leonardo sobbed, curling in on himself as he realized just how alone and heartbroken his younger brother must have felt…how isolated. "Why would you abandon him when he needed you most? We both knew that Donatello would have difficulties being in charge. You were supposed to be there to help him!"

Leonardo finally looked up at his Father, tears still winding down his face, the accusation in his eyes matching those falling from his mouth.

Splinter turned away from his son, facing the back wall of the infirmary. "I am afraid…your departure…I had underestimated…" Splinter had to finally halt, words failing him as he tried to gather his chaotic thoughts, desperate to make **this** son understand.

"I missed you more than I had anticipated, Leonardo. You and I have a special bond. Not that I love your brothers any less than I love you, but we share so many interests…we have spent so much time together…your company has always a provided comfort to me. I did not think that your absence would affect me so, but I found my heart aching for those times we spent together."

Leonardo's reproachful glare softened as his Father spoke. He could understand this much. He, too, had missed the times they spent together more than he had thought possible. But he couldn't comprehend how the desire for those moments could possibly have led to Donatello's treatment.

"I am afraid I took my sadness and anxiety out on your brother," Splinter explained, his head bowed, as if hearing Leonardo's thoughts. "I desperately yearned for that same connection you and I share, but Donatello and I have no commonalities. I cannot understand his hobbies, while he has little interest in mine. As much as it pains me to say it, I wanted Donatello to be you, and blamed him for it when he could do so."

Leonardo shut his eyes tightly against the tears that wanted to fall. He had been the cause of so much pain for his family. He was still causing them so much pain. It had never been his intention. He had only wanted to improve for them, to be able to better protect them…to care for them…

"By the time I realized my mistake, it was already too late," Splinter tightened his grip on his walking stick, feeling the claws of his left paw dig into the right paw below, "Michelangelo and Raphael had become too wild to control. No doubt taking lead from me, they had grown used to blaming Donatello for all the ills that befell our family. And Donatello had completely isolated himself from the rest of us, building walls so high and so thick, I do not know if they will ever successfully be breached. It has been almost a year since I have been able to sense his spirit. Even when in the deepest of meditation, he remains hidden from me."

Leonardo couldn't hold it in any more. Wrapping his arms across his chest, hugging himself tightly, he curled up until his forehead touched the floor and sobbed brokenly. This had not been what he had wanted. His family had fallen apart while he was gone…**because** he had been gone…and there didn't seem to be anything he could do to fix it. They had, in fact, broken, perhaps irrevocably, the one who **had** always been able to fix them.

Distantly he felt much loved, furry arms envelope him, but his physical body was too remote to him now for the loving embrace to matter. His spirit ached…his mind continued to hurl condemnations at himself…he felt the gracious blackness of unconsciousness approach and welcomed it fully, leaving the world to carry on without him for a time.


	11. Chapter 11

_Disclaimer: Unless you don't recognize them, I don't own them. No money or other profits are being made from this attempt at entertainment. _

_Fair warning, this is going to be an Alternate Universe fic. It takes place not too long after the 2007 CGI movie, but the Shredder is still alive and well and in charge of the Foot. Other details of the original timeline may or may not also be altered as I go along._

_**Also, for the purpose of my world the ages of the Turtles are Leo, Raph, Don then Mikey (from eldest to youngest). **__Personally, I just find Leo and Raph being the two eldest makes the most sense based on personalities and the interactions between the Turtles._

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_**WARNING: **__This chapter includes somewhat graphic descriptions of self-harm. If this will, or potentially will, bother you in any way, please do not read this chapter._

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Taking advantage of the distraction Michelangelo's outburst had causes, Raphael slipped out of the lair after Donatello. He felt bad for leaving his little brother in tears, but both Splinter and Leonardo were there for Mikey. Donatello was out there on his own, and in far greater need of comfort. And, given the time of night, Raph had a fairly strong hunch as to where Donnie was heading.

He knew where Donatello usually went when everything got to be too much for him and even his lab couldn't provide the escape he needed. Before their world had gone to hell, the two of them had often spent hours there together, sometimes talking, others just sitting in silent camaraderie.

He followed a familiar path through the sewers until he arrived at the manhole nearest to his destination, then climbed the ladder and cautiously lifted the lid slightly to make sure the alley above was empty. Assured that no one would notice his ascent, he shifted the manhole cover to the side and climbed out. Replacing the cover, he headed for the old fire escape in the alley, carefully avoiding a couple bags of trash that had been torn open, their contents littering the alley ground. Swinging up onto the bottom rung of the fire escape, he quickly climbed up onto the roof.

Upon alighting on the parapet, he paused for a moment, taking in the city before him. Yes, the sheer size was impressive, but that is not what caught his attention. It was the pulse…the music of New York that he was appreciating, as he did every time he came to the surface. Not that he couldn't hear it in the sewers, but it was always so much clearer above ground…he imagined it was like comparing listening to a symphony in a dampened room versus an actual music hall.

As far as he was aware, he was the only one among his family to hear the city so clearly. He sometimes wondered if that wasn't why he so often felt isolated from them; he had been claimed by a larger family, of which they were not really a part…

Nodding once to the welcoming presence, he ran over the roof and leapt onto the next, making his way across his City.

His destination was a twenty-story office building nearby, a group of three towers rising from a common podium. It had been built five years ago and at the time the building had set a precedent in New York City for sustainable design, or so Donnie had told him; triple-pane glazing on the façade, high efficiency HVAC equipment, roof-mounted wind turbines, daylight harvesting, and a large roof garden on the lower central tower.

From what he had heard, the garden was actually quite popular during the day, but the building locked its doors to the general public at six o'clock each night. Only people who worked for one of the businesses leasing office space and the janitorial staff had access after that. By now it was approaching ten o'clock, too late for most employees to still be around but not late enough for the cleaning staff to have started their rounds.

The building was located on the edge of the city's industrial area. It had been built on a former brownfield, the old factory that had sat on the site demolished and the land cleaned of the contaminants left behind.

It was easily the highest building in its neighborhood, and so had an unimpeded view of the New York skyline. While not well-known, the view from the garden was still spectacular and unlike the more famous viewpoints, there was minimal risk of discovery for mutant turtles if they were careful.

The hardest part was getting up to the roof itself, as those building nearby were significantly shorter. Before leaving the lair, however, he had grabbed a set of special climbing grips, designed by Donatello specifically for scaling the high-rise towers of New York. Moving to a shadowed corner where two of the towers met he put on the grips and began his ascent.

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Donatello had no clear memory of his flight from the lair. He vaguely realized that he was sitting in one of his favorite spots in the City, but the chaos in his mind prevented him from enjoying the view that almost always managed to calm and reassure him.

He collapsed onto the ground next to one of the small trees that populated the garden and brought his knees up to his chin, wrapping his arms around his legs. Rocking back and forth, his thoughts continued to assail him, the voices of his family reminding him of his delinquencies, berating him for his failures.

"Stop it! Stop…please…no more…" he begged, but his mind was merciless, his near-perfect recall a terrible curse as he was flayed with the disappointed words thoughtlessly spoken by his Father; the angry, demeaning words thrown at him by his brothers.

His hands tightened into fists, and a sudden, unexpected flash of pain temporarily broke in on his mental torment. He opened his now bleeding left hand to find a large piece of glass, which looked to have been part of a bottle of some kind. He had no idea when along his flight he had found it, but at the moment he was grateful to it and the peace it had brought.

Taking a deep breath, he raised his head to look out over the skyline, desperately trying not to allow his thoughts to draw him back into that pit of despair. It was a battle he was destined to lose.

"Stupid," he berated himself, "so **stupid**! Why did you lose your temper like that? They were only trying to help, and all you could do was yell at them like a spoiled brat and run away. You don't **deserve** their help."

"_I am disappointed in you, Donatello,"_ Splinter's voice echoed in his head, _"once again you run away from your responsibilities. Once again you prove yourself nothing more than a coward, useless to the Clan."_

"No, I do plenty for the Clan," Donatello argued, shaking his head violently. "Just because I don't like to fight…"

"_Pfft, don't __**like**__ to fight?" _Raph's voice cut in. _"Face it, Donnie-boy. You just plain suck at it. No wonder you try to avoid it, you know you don't stand a chance. You're nothing but a liability to us."_

"No! I installed the security system that protects the lair; I take care of you when you're sick or injured. I carry my weight…I **DO**…"

This time it was Mikey who joined in the chorus ripping into his brain. _"Just keep telling yourself that, Donnie. It still comes down to the simple fact that you're useless to us. You can't fight. Your stint as leader almost completely destroyed the Clan. Sure, you're a nerd that can wire up a security system, or kiss our boo-boos when we get hurt, but April or Leatherhead can do just as much, if not more. What do you __**really**__ bring the Clan? A big fat nothing."_

"_Nadda."_

"_You have failed at all I have tried to teach you, Donatello. A ninja does not while the day away in front of a computer; as a ninja, you are less than useless. You are a danger to your brothers, who must protect you whenever in battle due to your own inadequacies. Inadequacies which you have done nothing to correct…"_

"_Face it, Donatello,"_ Leo finally joined in, _"you are not a member of our Clan; you are merely a tool, and one that is easily replaced. You were given the chance to be more, but you couldn't do it. You couldn't measure up. You proved your uselessness beyond any doubt."_

"No! No, please…give me another chance. Please, I'll do better. I'm sorry, so sorry. Please…" without him being fully aware of it, Donatello's left hand had grasped the glass shard and began to move it across his right wrist. Even without him being conscious of it, he kept the cuts in the area where his wristband would cover them.

As Donatello battled his own fears and insecurities given voice by his family he was completely unaware of his surroundings, never sensing that he was not alone until it was too late.

------------

Having safely made it to the roof of the building, Raphael was searching the gardens for his brother when he caught a murmured voice floating in the night air. Hastily he turned and started to make his way towards it, straining all the while to make out what was being said and by whom. At last he was close enough, and his blood froze in his veins when he was able to make out the words, words that were being spoken in a very familiar voice, though in a tone he had never heard before. Now at a full sprint, he rounded the corner of the roof stairwell, landscape lighting providing enough illumination to clearly see his way, to enter into a scene suited for his darkest nightmares.

There was his brother, curled up against a tree, rocking back and forth while muttering apologies to himself. In one bloody hand he held what looked to be a knife, though it was hard to tell from the angle. The other hand…oh, the other hand… Donatello's right wrist was a mess of ripped skin, ribbons connected only by the slimmest of threads hung towards the ground, dyed red by the liquid that flowed from an ever increasing number of cuts.


	12. Chapter 12

_Disclaimer: Unless you don't recognize them, I don't own them. No money or other profits are being made from this attempt at entertainment. _

_Fair warning, this is going to be an Alternate Universe fic. It takes place not too long after the 2007 CGI movie, but the Shredder is still alive and well and in charge of the Foot. Other details of the original timeline may or may not also be altered as I go along._

_**Also, for the purpose of my world the ages of the Turtles are Leo, Raph, Don then Mikey (from eldest to youngest). **__Personally, I just find Leo and Raph being the two eldest makes the most sense based on personalities and the interactions between the Turtles._

------------

Raphael was just about to step forward to stop his brother's self-mutilation when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye.

"Shit," he muttered, realizing that in his distraction he had let he and his brother become surrounded. "Fucking hell."

He saw one of the Foot soldiers raise a blowgun to his lips, aimed at Donatello. "Not on my watch, buddy," he growled, leaping towards his brother. "Donnie, look out!" he shouted, shoving his brother out of the way of the dart.

"Ah!" Donatello cried, the sudden jolt having caused him to dig into his wrist deeper than intended. The sharp pain, combined with his brother's voice, caused a slight clearing of his fogged mind.

He blearily looked around, recognizing Raphael's form. His thoughts were still muddled, however; his mind only slowly clearing. "Raph, what?"

"No time, Donnie," Raph responded in a clipped manner, surreptitiously hitting the emergency call button on his shell cell while drawing his sais as he moved to better shield his brother from their oncoming foes, "we've got company."

The half-circle that pinned them to the building's edge moved in closer and Raphael attacked; a whirling dervish of flashing metal, though he was careful not to stray far from Donatello's side. A solid hit to one Foot soldier resulted in a furious storm of sparks. "Fucking robo-Foot, dammit!"

"Right you are, turtle," a familiar voice sneered, "and all under my control." Raphael looked up to see Baxter Stockman being carried by one Foot, keeping safely behind the ring of attackers.

Raphael growled, tightening his grips on his sais and baring his teeth at the Doctor. "What do you want, Stockman? Running more errands for your master?"

"Not that it is any business of yours, freak, but I've recently parted ways with the Shredder. I'm in the process of building my own empire…which is where your brother comes in…"

"What? Donnie?" Raphael blurted incredulously, looking over at his brother…only to see him collapsed on the ground, the deep wound in his wrist leaking blood at a frightening rate. "No!" he shouted, momentarily knocking down two of the robots that separated him from his brother and rushing to his side. He ripped off his bandana and rolled it up, placing it against the wounded wrist and applying pressure in an attempt to at least slow the bleeding.

"Tsk, tsk," Stockman mocked, "look at the state you all have let him reach. Really, he'd be better off with me…someone who understands him…who won't judge or ignore him…"

Raphael glared up at the man, keeping a close eye on both the robots and Donatello. "Shut the hell up, Stockman. There's no way in hell I'm letting you take him!"

"And how do you plan to stop me, turtle?" Stockman asked with an amused smirk on his face. "You're woefully outnumbered, and the moment you get up to fight, your brother starts bleeding again. He might even die while we stand here arguing, and what good would that do any of us?"

Raphael's heart ached painfully both at Stockman's word and the realization that he was right; the only chance he and Donnie had was that Leo and Mikey would arrive in time. He had to stall Stockman… "He ain't gonna die! He's stronger than that!"

"Yes, he certainly is. With a genius second only to myself. That is why I'll be taking him off your hands. With him at my side, neither you nor the Shredder will stand a chance. I'll get my revenge on you all!"

Raphael was shocked. There was no way Stockman was insinuating what he thought he was. "You're crazier than I thought if you think Donnie'd go along with any of your crazy plans," he growled. There was no way that Donnie would agree to fight for this wacko. Not Donnie…

"And just what makes you think I plan on giving him a choice?" Baxter scoffed. "When I'm done with him, he will be loyal only to **me**. His obviously compromised mental condition will only make him more susceptible to my plans."

"I ain't gonna let you hurt him, bastard." Raphael couldn't remember the last time he was so angry. There was no way he was letting them take his little brother away and do who knows what to him to try and turn him against their family. It just wasn't going to happen. He had failed Donnie too often of late. He wasn't going to fail him now.

"You make it sound like you have a choice in the matter." Pointing one metal limb at Raphael, Stockman ordered, "Get rid of this nuisance. But do not harm the other one."

As the robo-Foot attacked, Raphael had no choice but to let go of the bandana he had held up against Donatello's wounds. He could only hope that he could somehow end this before he lost too much blood.

Normally eight to one odds would be in Raphael's favor. The robo-Foot, however, were much stronger, faster, and more difficult to bring down than their human counterparts. Raph quickly found himself on the defensive, not helped by the fact he was trying to protect Donatello as well.

Finally he was able to take down one of the robots, jamming his sai in the small vulnerable joint at the back of the neck. Sparks leapt up, burning his forearm, but he yanked the sai out, drawing a mass of circuitry with it, and turned back to his attackers in time to block a katana strike.

"Enough!" Stockman's voice rang out over the sounds of battle. "I don't have time for this. Just take him down! Now!"

At his command four of the robo-Foot jumped him en-mass, their sheer weight of numbers dragging him to the ground. He valiantly tried to free himself, but even his strength was no match for their heavy metallic frames.

"_Dammit, where the hell are Mikey and Leo?"_ Raph thought as he helplessly watched the last Foot soldier pull Donatello's unresisting form over one shoulder and walk back to join the soldier carrying Stockman.

"And now, turtle, I bid you goodbye. Think of it as a blessing. You're not going to live long enough to face your brother across a battle field."

Raphael finally went berserk, intense rage fueling his struggles as he jerked under the weight crushing him. "Rargh!" he shouted, beyond the ability to form words, actually managing to dislodge one of the robots with his flailing limbs.

"Finish him," Stockman cried shrilly, moving deeper into his robot's arms, as if to increase the distance between Raphael and himself.

"I don't think so," a low, angry voice replied just before two forms leapt into the fray, throwing two of the robots off Raphael, allowing him to remove the others.

Baxter looked at the three turtles before him cautiously, finally showing concern. "So, the cavalry finally arrives. It's unfortunate that you are too late. Take us back to the lab," he ordered the robots holding Donatello and himself. "The rest of you, take care of these blasted turtles!"

At his command, the two Foot addressed began to run across the rooftop, using their superhuman strength to safely leap to the next building, and continued to flee.

With three of them fighting, the turtles were able to dispatch all of the robot Foot in only a matter of minutes. It might as well have been hours, however, as the two that had fled, along with their cargo, had disappeared.


	13. NaC

This Chapter Intentionally Left Blank

I tried replacing the old 'Chapter' 13, which was the plug for the first page for my "Cold of Winter" comic, but fanfiction wasn't registering the story as having been updated. This makes no sense to me, but there it is in black and white, claiming that the story hadn't been updated since the 7th, even though I put up the actual Chapter 13 on the 9th.

I'm slightly concerned that those of you with the story on story alert did not get notification that the new chapter was published, so I'm putting this placeholder here, and putting the real Chapter 13 in the Chapter 14 space. This way I hope that the update function on fanfiction will work correctly.

Sorry for the confusion!


	14. Chapter 13

_Disclaimer: Unless you don't recognize them, I don't own them. No money or other profits are being made from this attempt at entertainment. _

_This is an Alternate Universe fic. It takes place not too long after the 2007 CGI movie, but the Shredder is still alive and well and in charge of the Foot. Other details of the original timeline may or may not also be altered as I go along._

_Also, for the purpose of my world the ages of the Turtles are Leo, Raph, Don then Mikey (from eldest to youngest). _

------------

_**Warning:**_ _This chapter contains disturbing imagery of torture. Read at own risk._

------------

Donatello blearily awoke to an excruciating pain in his shoulders. He blinked his eyes against the bright light that assaulted him. When he finally became used to the illuminance level he gazed around the room, trying his best to ignore his agonizing, but his vision was too blurred to lend any aid in determining his situation. He strove to pull from his muddled mind his last memories - trying to figure out what had happened, where he was and whether or not the rest of his Clan was safe – but those thoughts were at least momentarily lost to him.

Gradually his vision began to clear and he was able to determine that he was hanging from a set of chains, one attached to each wrist, that were mounted to the ceiling in opposite corners of the sterile room, stretching his arms apart. Though his toes barely brushed the floor, his legs were also chained down; manacles tight around each ankle connected to floor-mounted chains that kept them spread at least two feet apart.

He stretched his feet in an attempt to take some of his weight off his shoulders, which were now screaming with pain. As he took in his surroundings he absently noted the blood, some already dried, that ran down his arms from where the restraints on his wrists had cut into his skin. Though as he considered it he noticed that the right arm had significantly more blood… a vague memory teased the back of his mind for a moment, and he strained to try to remember, but while cleared his head still ached and trying to think was only making it worse. Giving up for the moment, Donatello continued to take in his surroundings.

As he moved his head to take in the rest of the room he felt something hard attached to the side of his neck, but he had no idea as to what it could be.

The room in which he was trapped was currently empty, and fairly brightly lit. It was approximately thirty feet square with no windows and only one door. The ceiling was approximately twelve feet above him. Walls, floor and ceiling all appeared to be made of some sort of metal. There were four cameras in the room, two high on the walls pointed at a downward angle while two others were mounted lower down and seemed to be aimed towards the ceiling - obviously an effort to ensure that every portion of the room was monitored.

"Hello," he called out, "what's going on? What do you want with me?"

There was no discernable change in his environment to indicate that anyone had noticed that he was awake and requesting information. He waited a few more minutes before crying out again.

"What is this? Who are you?"

He was hesitant to ask after his brothers, though he yearned to know if they were safe. If he had been caught on his own his captors may be unaware of the others, however, and he didn't want to put his Clan in danger.

More silence was his only answer.

He examined the manacles holding his wrists, hoping to find some sort of weakness he could exploit, as questions whirled through his head and frustration and despair through the usually logical mind into chaos. He jerked futilely at his bonds, sending sharp shards of pain tearing into his shoulders and wrists. In the back of his mind he felt wet trickles creeping down his arms and realized distractedly that he had reopened his wounds.

Blood… flowing from open wounds… his wrist…

"Argh!" Seemingly random images assaulted his head… or was he finally remembering… a battle… and Raphael…

Suddenly, without warning, the illumination level in the room increased to a blindingly painful degree and a shrill, ear-piercing sound echoed through the room. He closed his eyes - to very little avail - and struggled hopelessly to cover his ears. His head felt like it would split in two from the pain, and at that point he would have welcomed the release.

An eternity later the sound stopped and the illumination level dropped back down to its previous levels. Donatello hung in his restraints for several minutes gasping for breath. "Who are you?" he called out, "What do you want?" but received no response.

Hours later, and the process began again, though it seemed that the both sound and light were more intense and lasted longer. The next time it was only a matter of minutes until the light and sound blasted through Donatello's skull; he hadn't yet managed to calm down from the previous assault before he was writhing in pain again.

He had no idea how long the pattern repeated, the attacks coming at varying intervals and intensity levels. Sometimes only fleeting seconds would pass between them, at others what seemed like entire days. Though he could be certain that any time he started to fall into an actual…potentially restful…sleep he would be bombarded mercilessly. He did lose consciousness several times. His throat was raw from the screams that he had been unable to stop. It wasn't unusual for him to come to only to realize he had soiled himself, but no one bothered to wash the filth from his body.

Time passed and whenever rational he found him yearning for his brothers. They still hadn't come. He had been captive… hours?… days?… weeks?… and they still hadn't come. Either they were captured and suffering as he was or they had abandoned him. Both thoughts tore into his fragile heart with enthusiastic abandon and left him wondering if it was even worth fighting...

_worthless…_

_coward…_

… but the only alternative was madness.

More time passed, and he forced himself to stop wallowing – to stop thinking about them. He needed the energy for himself. He had to focus everything he had if he was to survive his torment with his sanity intact, and he would be damned before he let anyone take his mind.

------------

At one point he realized that he had to be getting fluids when he was unconscious, as he hadn't died of thirst and, while he was uncertain as to exactly how long he had been held prisoner, he knew it must have been several days at least.

He didn't see a cannula on either arm, but perhaps that thing he had noticed on his neck… he thought he recalled reading about a type of intravenous line that… another wave of torture interrupted the thought before he could finish it. He wouldn't be lucid enough to consider it again.

------------

Just as he was becoming resigned to his situation he came to after a period of unconsciousness to find himself covered with various probes, the wires of which ran along the floor and under the door. Nervously shifting, dreading what new torment was coming, he wished that they had at least put whatever machine the probes were connected to in the room with him. It would have provided a welcome distraction from the bareness of the room, and at least he could have made an educated guess as to what was in store.

He didn't have to wait long to find out, however. During the next 'session,' minutes into the audio and visual assault a sudden electrical shock ran through his body, ripping a scream from his abused throat. Helplessly he convulsed in his chains, biting through his tongue and gagging on the blood that flooded his mouth.

When the attack finally stopped he was left sobbing, still twitching involuntarily as nerves pushed beyond their limit protested. "Please," he rasped, looking up into one of the cameras, "why are you doing this? Please…"

His pleas were cut off as he was once again struck by a massive jolt of electricity, this time unaccompanied by sound or light. And then all his mind could concentrate on was the pain…

------------

Stockman observed the monitors that transmitted the view of their captive, cruel enjoyment obvious as he watched the turtle writhe in pain. Not turning away from the screens, he asked, "When do you anticipate that we can begin Stage Two?"

Doctor Ross, the only other person in the room, glanced up from the notes he was taking and studied their test subject for several moments, occasionally looking back to the file on the desk beside him, checking the results of the blood tests they had been running periodically to monitor the effects of the drugs they were administering.

"It shouldn't be too much longer," he posited clinically. "From the data taken, the initial round of drugs seems to be affecting the subject exactly as anticipated. We should increase the randomness of the application of stimuli in terms of timing, intensity and combinations to further unsettle the subject. I would recommend continuing with Phase One for another week, to ensure that its mind is completely compromised. At that point, it should be safe to continue on to Phase Two."

Stockman chuckled. "Excellent. I admit to never having taken the time to appreciate biological experiments in the past, but perhaps I will have to shift my focus slightly. So far, **this** experiment at least has proven most enjoyable."

Ross gave a noncommittal hum, having learned that the other man generally spoke merely for the enjoyment of hearing his own voice, and did not expect much in the way of conversation.

As he wasn't paying any attention to Stockman, he missed the look of sly appraisal Baxter turned on him moments later.

"So tell me, Doctor, what will you do after this?"

Doctor Ross turned to the other man in surprise, this being the first time Stockman had actually inquired after Ross himself. "You mean after the completion of this experiment? That's quite a period into the future. Even after the clinical trial is completed, there will be months of observation required to ensure that all facets of the operation went as hypothesized. I'm sure there will be some adjustments that will need to be made. As you are no doubt aware, Doctor, no enterprise is ever completely without error."

"Hmm…and after that?" Baxter asked thoughtfully. "Has the Shredder spoken to you at all regarding future projects?"

"Why would he, when we have only just begun the current one?" Ross scoffed. "Please, Doctor Stockman, whatever it is you are trying to say, stop wasting both of our time and just say it."

"Very well. I was simply wondering if it had occurred to you that you could very well be creating your own replacement?" Baxter inquired, studying the other's reactions closely.

Ross' gaze turned incredulous. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Come now, Doctor, surely you've studied the report on your test subject," Stockman explained pointing to the large folder sitting on the desk beside Ross. "It's been proven that the creature is truly a genius, loath as I am to admit it. Mechanical, biological…even alien technology was not able to slow it down."

Doctor Ross scoffed, "Are you seriously insinuating that the Master seeks to replace me with a mutated **reptile**?"

Stockman just shrugged, or the nearest equivalent to it he could manage. "You must have noticed just how obsessed the Shredder has become with this specimen. Why go to all this trouble, unless he plans to take full advantage of all of the subject's abilities?

"No, it seems to me that the Shredder already has a new role in mind for your future." Baxter pointed with one mechanical arm at Ross' four-fingered hand. "Now that the Shredder has chosen you as his next designated scapegoat, he will continue to blame you for every failure he suffers, whether or not you are to actually at fault. He will continue to 'punish' you until there is next to nothing left. Take it from someone intimately familiar with such a situation."

"You were punished because you failed," Ross sneered, though uncertainty was obvious on his face.

"That is the story that the Shredder is perpetuating, true. What he doesn't see fit to mention is that it was **his** overconfidence… **his** incompetence that led to said failures. I merely provided him with the tools, the fact that he misused those tools should hardly be held against me... wouldn't you agree, Doctor?"

Ross said nothing, turning to stare blankly at the monitor bank in front of him, where Donatello hung screaming in pain.

"Come now, Doctor Ross," Stockman wheedled, placing a companionable metallic arm over as much of the blonde's shoulder as he could reach. "I am merely trying to look out for a fellow scientist, and perhaps provide a bit of security to my own position as well…"

"What are you asking me to do?" Ross asked resignedly, absently noting the blood that was now dribbling from the subject's mouth. In the back of his mind he made a note to check the central venous catheter in its neck to make certain that none of the blood had gotten onto it. The last thing they needed was for the experiment to be ruined because their test subject suffered an infection.

Baxter gave a victorious smirk. "Nothing that would compromise your current experiment, I assure you. I am merely suggesting it would be in both our best interests to have some… insurance, in case the Shredder should come to the decision that we are perhaps expendable."

"…I'm listening…"

******

_Footnotes: A central venous catheter is a catheter placed into a large vein in the neck, chest, or groin used to administer medication, nutrients or fluids, directly obtain cardiovascular measurements and obtain blood tests over a long period of time (usually several weeks or more). The catheter is threaded through the vein until it reaches a large vein near the heart._

_Typically the catheter is inserted into the neck only if it will be used during a hospital stay, but no villain worth his salt would let that stop him._


	15. NaC 2

First, my apologies for those of you excited for a new chapter. Obviously this is not such.

I also apologize for the delay in updates on this story. I was suffering through the perfect storm of something of a crisis of faith if you will in regards to the story combined with real life coming up to stab me in the back.

It's not all bad news, however. I am absolutely determined to finish this story (in fact, the ending is already fairly well written – it's just a matter of getting there from here).

I am currently in the process of reviewing the previously posted chapters. For the most part there are only minor edits, with the exception of Chapter 13. This chapter is going to be radically rewritten.

We have a huge project due at work at the end of the month, after which I'll be taking about a week to catch up on the projects I've been ignoring while working on said huge project. After that I'll be (hopefully) dedicating myself to getting things rolling again on "Cold of Winter."

Again, sorry for the faux update, but I wanted to give you all a status report.

Thanks for your patience!


	16. Chile

Hey All – sorry for the fake chapter, but this seemed like the best way to contact the most people.

I've got my services up for bid over at the Help_Chile liverjournal community.

One story, at least 2500 words. You pick the fandom, general plot and (if applicable) pairing. Bidding starts at $5.

Please see my homepage (link above) for more details and links to the auction and community.


	17. Chapter 14

_Disclaimer: Unless you don't recognize them, I don't own them. No money or other profits are being made from this attempt at entertainment. _

_This is an Alternate Universe fic. It takes place not too long after the 2007 CGI movie, but the Shredder is still alive and well and in charge of the Foot. Other details of the original timeline may or may not also be altered as I go along._

_Also, for the purpose of my world the ages of the Turtles are Leo, Raph, Don then Mikey (from eldest to youngest). _

------------

_Author's Notes:_

_Chapter 13 has gone through some fairly significant revisions. You don't have to reread it as the basic plot hasn't changed, but I think it's significantly improved from the original._

_The rest of the previously published chapters are still going through revision. This is mostly 'fine tuning' – fixing typos, clarifying certain sentences or paragraphs that were originally unwieldy, etc. I'll try to let you know when chapter have been revised, although no plot changes are planned so it's not necessary that they be reread._

_Also, thanks to who nominated this story for 'Best Multichapter' fic over at Stealthy Stories! It really does mean a lot to me. They've got quite the list of excellent stories nominated for various topics with links to the stories, if you're looking for reading material._

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Leonardo flawlessly performed his chosen kata, flowing from form to form as smoothly as water in a gentle stream. His mind, however, was far from calm. It had been almost three weeks since Donatello had been stolen from them, and they still had no real leads as to where he was being kept.

Stockman had claimed that he wasn't working for the Shredder any longer, not that that had kept them from searching all the Foot and Purple Dragon hideouts of which they were aware. They hadn't found any signs of Donatello, and the only signs of Stockman had been rumors of the gory fate that awaited him when the Shredder found him.

Splinter had attempted to use meditation to reach Donatello, hoping that he would have lowered his mental barriers at least enough for Splinter to locate him. Even with all of them joining together, however, they hadn't been able to reach him.

Leonardo was worried… No – he had promised himself he was going to figure out how to be a brother again, and one of the first steps in that was allowing his emotions to express themselves rather than trying to suppress them behind a dispassionate façade.

Leonardo was absolutely terrified. His little brother had been missing for three weeks. His emotionally unstable little brother whom he had recently learned had been neglected and abused by their family for the last two years had been missing for three weeks. And was in the hands of a maniac who had claimed that he was going to turn said little brother against the Cla… against their family.

April and Casey had both been horrified to hear what had happened. They hadn't told them about Donatello's habit of self-harm, only that he had been captured. Leatherhead had very nearly gone feral when he had been told. He'd kicked them out of his lab almost immediately after they'd finished talking. They had all sensed the furious anger was building in the normally quiet alligator and had quickly left. The sounds of his rage had followed them for almost a full mile in the echo-laden sewers.

Leo didn't know what to do. They would keep searching, obviously, but they didn't seem to be getting any closer to finding Donatello. The repeated failures were getting to them all.

He found himself continuously yearning to retreat back into his Leader persona. The Leader never let emotions get in the way of reaching the goal. He did what needed to be done. He didn't worry about things over which he had no control, as to do so would be a useless waste of energy…

But he had promised himself he would be a better brother - which meant balancing between being the Leader and the brother, not hiding behind one or the other. It meant letting Raph vent without reprimanding him for disrespect or language. It meant comforting Mikey in the middle of the night when he woke up crying for a brother that wasn't there to answer him. It meant reassuring Splinter that yes, they would find his lost son and that yes, whatever had been done to him they would be able to fix.

It also meant staying up analyzing and reanalyzing their actions - both past and future. It meant going through again and again the meager information they had been able to gain – what was overheard, the tone in which it had been said and by whom. It meant spending hours sifting through police reports – a map of the city close at hand – listening for any reports of odd behaviors… or sightings, any increase in crime, any sort of pattern that would lead them to where Stockman was hiding.

And it meant planning out exactly how they were going to make Doctor Baxter Stockman pay for stripping their family of its soul.

------------

Raphael stood atop a building gazing out over New York, having spent the night fruitlessly searching for Donatello. His weary mind preoccupied with anger and fear, he didn't notice the glorious sunrise as it painted the sky in shades of red. The usual comfort he gained from his City was absent – had been absent for weeks now. A discordant, jarring refrain had forced itself into the song that had always made him feel welcomed in the past. Now it seemed darker, more sinister, with secrets and danger hidden in every shadow.

He was handling Donatello's capture about how anyone would have anticipated he would, had they been of a mind to consider such thoughts. He was the first to suggest any trips to Foot or Purple Dragon hideouts. He'd lost track of how many damned journeys of his own he'd made to the surface, scouring his city for anything resembling a fucking clue that would lead him to his brother. He bristled at any suggestion from Leo that he slow down or stop taking so many chances and quite frankly told him exactly where he could stick his advice.

Those few hours he was not searching for Donnie or passed out from exhaustion he spent going through punching bags in the dojo or venting out against Leo, who seemed to actually take some sort of comfort in the familiarity of their interactions – which honestly took a little of the fun out of it for Raph.

He found himself unable to sit still. He was constantly filled with an uncontainable nervous energy, fed by his desperate need to find Donatello.

Whom he had failed.

His little brother had been right there – had needed him. It had been up to him to protect him. And he had failed.

They might never see Donatello again. If they did, it was unlikely that he would be the brother that they remembered. Hell, if they believed Stockman's shit, he might actually be fighting against them.

And it was his fault.

Raphael leapt from the rooftop to make another sweep of the City.

------------

Michelangelo sat up in his bed, arms wrapped around knees that were pulled up to his chest. He was bone-wearingly tired and knew he should be sleeping… and he would… in a minute. No, he wasn't afraid to go to sleep. He just… didn't feel like it yet.

He didn't believe that Stockman would be able to turn Donatello against them. He simply couldn't – Donnie wasn't wired that way. He knew that the others thought he was being naïve, but that wasn't true. He was just being logical. He figured somebody should try it, since Leo was reaching bipolar-ville, Raph was ready to spontaneously combust and Splinter was meditating almost twenty-four – seven.

The way he figured it, they had abused Donnie and basically treated him like crap for two years. And even during the worst of it he hadn't struck out against any of them. Instead he had turned his hatred and anger against himself. If they hadn't managed to turn Donnie against themselves, in spite of how badly they'd treated him, there was no way Stockman would manage it.

What worried Michelangelo was what Stockman would do to Donnie when he finally realized that…

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And, from his sanctuary in Foot Headquarters, Oroku Saki watched them fall apart and laughed.


	18. Chapter 15

_Disclaimer: Unless you don't recognize them, I don't own them. No money or other profits are being made from this attempt at entertainment. _

_This is an Alternate Universe fic. It takes place not too long after the 2007 CGI movie, but the Shredder is still alive and well and in charge of the Foot. Other details of the original timeline may or may not also be altered as I go along._

_Also, for the purpose of my world the ages of the Turtles are Leo, Raph, Don then Mikey (from eldest to youngest). _

_**

* * *

**__**WARNING: **__This chapter includes somewhat descriptions and thoughts of self-harm. If this will, or potentially will, bother you in any way, please do not read this chapter._

* * *

"And you are certain Donatello is ready to begin the next stage of the programming?"

Saki's dark, impenetrable gaze was a heavy weight on the shoulders of Doctor Ross as he knelt on the floor before his Master's throne giving his latest report. Stockman stood beside him, his mechanical 'body' not allowing for supine positioning.

"Yes. All signs point to now being ideal. If we wait any longer we risk breaking him completely, which you indicated was not the desired result."

"I have more than enough mindless slaves," Saki scoffed. "But a mind of his caliber… that I will not waste."

A stab of unease ran through Ross at those words. He didn't miss the knowing look that Stockman sent his direction. Perhaps the other man's concerns actually had some validity…

* * *

Something had changed.

Even in his pained, drugged state Donatello was aware of a new ominous atmosphere, even more threatening than that which had previously covered his cell.

It took several… minutes?... hours?... for that change to make itself known. The torture sessions had not let up, they continued to come with mind-bending randomness. But slowly other, even more tortuous sessions began to intrude upon his mind.

It started quietly - voices echoing in his head, which at first he was able to ignore.

_Geek…_

_Coward…_

_Braininac…_

_Useless…_

The gradually increased in volume and duration, however, until they trapped his entire focus.

_Give me a break, ya big geek. Come on, Donnie. Can't you talk in plain English?_

_Try again, Donatello. Your brothers have already mastered this kata. If you hope to catch up to them, you must try harder in your studies._

_Of course you don't want to fight. You're nothing but a coward._

_What the matter, Brainiac? Can't the big brain master a simple kata?_

_Come on, Donnie. Please fix the tv. This is your thing, right? _

_You're absolutely useless as a ninja. What are you even doing in this Clan?_

Eventually the voices became images, scenes of pain and betrayal playing out in his mind's eye, leaving him unable to turn away.

_

* * *

_

He is five, and his lessons in the ninja arts have just begun. While in previous academic lessons he had shined, he now finds himself lacking – falling behind his brothers a little more every day.

_And they, so used to being compared unfavorably to him, take no small amount of enjoyment in rubbing his face in his failure._

"_I don't understand, Donnie. This is really simple stuff. Are you even trying? I know that fighting isn't your thing, but it's still important."_

_He is absolutely mortified by his inability to master the kick. His brothers had all moved on days ago, but he is being forced to continue to work on it until he betters his apparently terrible form. It perhaps would not be so bad – he is well aware that no one can be good at everything, and it is evident to him that his skills lie in the mental, not the physical world – but his brothers train at the same time in the same room and their teasing never seems to end._

"_Seriously Dude, what have you been doing for the last week? Finally met your match in a simple side kick?" _

_He does not understand it. He never lorded over them his higher mental abilities. Why are they so determined to make him feel worse than he already does for his failures? _

"_Come on already! We're a fuc…freakin' ninja clan. What good are you, if you can't fight?"_

_What is wrong with him, that his brothers would treat him so?_

_

* * *

_

He is nine, and his father has no idea what to do with him.

"_Come, my son. Would you not rather join your brothers in their activities?"_

_No, he much prefers his tools and machines. Here he knows he belongs, unlike when he spends time with his 'family,' who never fail to point out his idiosyncrasies and failings._

"_But Father, they always make fun of me for not being able to keep up with them."_

_There is no sign of understanding on his Father's face. Not that he expected any. It is not unusual for his brothers to even tease him in front of the rat – it is only when the taunts begin to turn violent that he interferes. It is obvious that Splinter expects him to fight his own battles._

"_All the more reason to join them. It is only through training and hard work that you will ever hope to match their physical prowess."_

"_Please, Father. Tomorrow I will join them. I am almost done here, though."_

_For the first time since entering the small room Donatello shares with Raphael, Splinter stops to take in the mass of tools, wires and metal parts that surround the small turtle. It takes the rat several moments, but eventually he recognizes the water heater he had struggled to bring down to the lair, only to discover that though it looked to be in good condition, a problem in its inner workings prevented it from functioning._

"_Donatello! What are you doing?"_

_Brown eyes widen with incomprehension at his Father's tone. He is too young to understand that the rat is upset with himself and his own failings at providing for his family, and not the small turtle. _

"_I… I… you said it wasn't working. I was curious. I'm sorry, Father, but I think I've been able to figure out what was wrong. I just need to put it together again. It should work fine, now. I promise!" he stutters out in one long breath, dropping the screwdriver that he had been holding to rub his hands together anxiously._

"_How could you act so irresponsibly?" he Father demands, his voice icy in his anger. Donatello can only cower, neck retracting into his shell slightly as he looks up at the upset rat. "This is not a toy, Donatello. It could be dangerous. You could have hurt yourself. You could have hurt one of your brothers! I expect better of you."_

"_I'm sorry," he cries, eyes dampening with tears he refuses to allow to fall – he is not a crybaby! "I didn't mean any harm. I just wanted to help."_

"_I do not care to hear your excuses. You have disappointed me. Go to my room and stand in the corner. I am going to return this to the junkyard so it does not provide further temptation. You will not move until I allow it."_

"_But Father!" he protests. "It works. I promise, it does!"_

_Splinter shakes his head, unhearing. "You are only nine years old. You could not possibly have truly fixed such a complex device. I will not risk your brother's safety just because you have such false confidence in your own skills._

"_I will hear no more of it!" Splinter yells as he is about to protests – he knows that he has fixed the water heater, he would never put any of his family at risk._

"_Yes, Father," he mumbles, head down as he leaves for Splinter's room. He cannot bear to stay and watch all his work be thrown away – wasted simply because his Father does not believe in him._

_His brothers accost him as he leaves the room, curious having hear Splinter yelling. He silently walks past them without stopping and enters Splinter's room, moving to stand in one bare corner. When, hours later, Splinter finally comes to tell him to go to bed he leaves without a word. As he enters his room his heart twinges as he sees the empty floor where his project had been. All that work, gone…_

_He closes his eyes against the frustrated tears that beg once more to fall. As he walks to his bed, a sudden pain in his foot pulls him from his depression. Looking down, he sees a small screw that Splinter must have missed when gathering the water heater pieces. Without conscious thought, Donatello bend down and picks up the screw, tightening his hand around it in a fist._

_The metal digs into his hand, but he ignores the pain and gets into his bed. Sleep is surprisingly easy to find – the emotional rollercoaster of a day having worn him out. As he slips into a deep, though hardly restful sleep he vows to be more careful about his projects in the future. _

_His enjoyment in technology – the simple joy he finds in setting to rights some broken item - is obviously yet another thing that isolates him from his family. Thus, it is one more thing about himself that he will have to keep secret._

_He wonders, as sleep finally claims him, if all families involve so much duplicity._

_

* * *

_

He is thirteen, and has had his first battle.

_They were topside, scavenging parts for a security system he wants to add to the lair – after many years he was finally able to prove himself competent enough to be trusted when it came to his project. Which led to him becoming the de-facto handyman for the Clan, but at least he no longer had to hide his inventions. As they worked, his brother's constant complaints ignored through long years of practice, they were confronted by a local gang. Their attempts to escape had been fruitless, and so they were left with no choice but to fight._

_In spite of their young age and being outnumbered, the ill-trained gang members proved to be little challenge for the four ninjas. With only minor wounds, the four returned to the lair victorious._

_His brothers are invigorated by the battle – even Leonardo, who is becoming more stolid by the day. _

_He finds that he cannot join in their revelry, however. Even hours after the fight, he can still hear the moans of pain from their attackers turned victims. He can still remember the feel of his bo impacting with flesh and bone with the intent to harm. He can still feel, even after a shower that completely depleted the contents of the hot water heater he was finally able to install, the splatter of his opponents' blood sticking to his skin._

_He has already vomited up everything he had in his stomach, but as Michelangelo begins yet another spirited reenactment of the battle he finds himself fighting the urge to retch. Silently – stealth has always been the one ninja skill at which he excelled – he makes his was from the living room and enters his lab, closing the door firmly._

_He tries to busy his mind with other thoughts and moves towards his desk, on which is piled the blueprints for a new computer system he's in the process of designing. _

_He ends up on the floor, curled into as small a ball as his plastron will allow as tears stream down his face while outside the room his Clan continues their celebration, not even noticing his absence. _

_

* * *

_

He is fifteen, and has just had his heart broken.

_Of all his brothers, he would have suspected himself the least likely to fall in love. He was well aware of just how different from 'normal' they were. _

_And yet there she was – spirited and oh-so intelligent. After the initial shock their uniqueness hadn't seemed to bother her. His family could not… would not… understand him. She took the same joy in technology and learning as him._ _He had allowed himself to believe that maybe there was a place for him to belong after all…_

"_I'm sorry, Donnie, but I just don't love you like that. You're like a little brother to me."_

… _only to be crushed when she let him down. He hadn't told her, he would never have been so courageous, but she had known. She spoke gently, kindly, obviously not wanting to hurt him. But it did. It hurt so much, to have that last bit of hope crushed._

_Even worse is when her lover also sees fit to confront him. He prays for the ground to come up and swallow him, to keep him from having to suffer yet more embarrassment but as always he is forsaken._

"_Look, I know that she ain't gonna dump me for you or anything, but it bugs her to see you moping around all the time when we're together. I mean, it's not like you seriously thought she'd be interested in you, right?"_

_He knows that the intention is not to rub salt in his wounds – Casey has always been blunt to the point of insult, but never deliberately so – but he cannot help the pain that arrows through his heart._

_He is quite aware of exactly how unique his Clan is in the world. And yet, even among his fellow freaks, he stands out as being different… strange…_

_He had foolishly allowed himself to hope that someday, somewhere things would change, and that he would find a true home where he would be cherished for those very traits that damned him in the minds of his Clan._

_He would not make the same mistake again._

_

* * *

_

He is seventeen, and is entranced by the sight of his own blood.

_The first time, it was not deliberate. Raphael had been taunting him – such things were not unusual. He had already been in a bad mood, however, as his latest design for a new transportation device had hit a snag. He had wasted the entire night trying to break through the problem, but with no success. His lack of sleep had led to him being reprimanded during practice, and he had had to stay late and run through extra katas until his Sensei had been satisfied._

_He had finally… finally!... been released, only to find that all of the eggs and sausage that Michelangelo had cooked already claimed. He had to make do with cold cereal, all the while listening to Leonardo berating him for his performance while Raphael chimed in with his own unwelcome comments. Finally his red-banded brother had said something so far beyond the pale that everyone had stared at him in silent disbelief. Donatello suspected that Raphael had also had a difficult night, but at the time he did not care._

_With extreme deliberateness he rose from his seat, ignoring everyone who tried to talk to him, and entered his sanctuary – his lab. Even there, he was not safe from ridicule, however. Sitting on his desk amongst various tools and equipment, taunting him and his deficiencies, were the plans for the transport. As was becoming more and more common, the voices of his family yelled out in his mind, each berating him for his foolishness… his uselessness… not a ninja… not an inventor… what good was he?_

_With a mighty yell of anger he swept everything off his desk. Still, it was not enough. Reaching down, he grabbed the plans – meaning to rip them to shreds. Then a sudden jab of pain in his palm cut through the haze of anger that had descended upon him and brought a sudden stop to the voices in his head. He looked down at his hand to see a stain of red expanding across the papers still in his hand. Carefully shifting them slightly he saw the culprit, a small knife that he used to strip the more stubborn wires he dealt with._

_Grabbing the knife in his left hand, he examined the gleaming red metallic surface, even as the voices began to restart their interrupted rants. They remained mere background noise, as he turned back to the ruined plans. Entranced, he watched as his blood continued to paint beautiful abstract designs – mingling with the lines of circuitry and calculations – his life's work combining with his life blood… and all the while his mind was blessedly silent… _

_A hesitant knock followed by his younger brother's voice calling his name finally broke him from his spell. He crumpled up the drawings and placed them in the garbage, then placed a clean rag over the cut – applying pressure to stop the bleeding. He called out for his brother to enter, and was soon caught up in over-the-top complaints of older brothers and their inability to understand anything. Donatello appreciated the effort his brother was putting in to trying to cheer him up, but even as they talked he found his mind going back to that beautiful moment of peace._

_From then on letting his blood became his escape – the only way besides immersing himself in his work that he was able to truly find peace. He had an entire notebook, locked and carefully hidden, with designs he had made – red and rust and black depending on age and how long he had let his wounds linger on the paper._

_He is careful to only cut in those areas that are easily hidden. And though that makes his art even more abstract – it is difficult to draw figures or words with an elbow or knee – he finds that he does not mind. His inventions and experiments give him all the structure he needs. He appreciates the randomness of the designs that result from this other escape. It is a poignant contrast, and something he has come to depend quite heavily on._

_He knows that his Clan will be disappointed should they find out – one more to add to their never ending lists – but cannot bring himself to stop. Besides, he is confident – both in his own ability to hide and in his Clan's willingness to ignore._

_

* * *

_

He is eighteen, and trying his best to keep his family together.

_It is not easy. They seem to be fighting him, determined to break apart and scatter to the winds. He was never meant to be leader – never wanted that position. He was much more comfortable in the shadows, offering help when he could but always safely hidden from scrutiny… an afterthought. _

_He no longer has time for his inventions or experiments. All of his time is spent maintaining their equipment and security, taking care of his Master and working to pay for the medications and supplies they need. Having lost one that escape, he finds himself turning more and more to… his other release._

_It has become more than that, however. He has never been what his Clan wanted – never fast enough or strong enough or brave enough. But lately it seems like all he does is fail. And each failure is another cut upon his soul. _

_He wonders sometimes, when he has perhaps let the blood run a little too fast for a little too long, what his soul must look like – are the pieces held together with duct tape – more or less secure - or are they merely held in place by virtue of friction, waiting for a strong enough strike to send them scattering._

_His Master no longer cares to discipline them. He spends most of his time meditating. In Donatello's more charitable moments he is able to convince himself that the rat is merely resting – he is on the mend, but still not fully healed. Most of the time, however, he is convinced that the elder is searching the mental landscape for his favored son, to beg him to return._

_He finds himself left feeling adrift. He is filled with guilt over his mistakes, but there is no one demanding he perform extra katas, or stand in a corner… no one seems to pay any attention to him at all except to yell at him and blame him for everything that is wrong in their lives._

_Not that he doesn't deserve the blame. He was appointed the leader. Wanted or not, it became his responsibility. All of their misfortune, their unhappiness – it IS his fault. He knows this, but isn't sure what to do about it._

_He tries to work harder, to push himself further, to be firmer with his decisions and assert himself more. Nothing works, however, and he is left feeling even worse than before._

_And so he turns to the one outlet that he still has. It is selfish, he knows, to allow himself an escape. And so he cuts deeper, twists the knife in the wounds, anything to cause himself more pain. He no longer lets himself decorate the pages of his journal – this has become his punishment, as if his blood will wash away his faults if he can just shed enough…_

_He is eventually discovered – yet another failure. The fear and shock on Michelangelo's face is not something he is ever going to forget. His little brother insists that his remorse is unnecessary, that he's not at fault, but he knows that is untrue. One quiet voice has no hope against the multitude shouting in his mind._

_His brother makes him promise to get him whenever he feels the need to punish himself. He is reluctant as he does not want to expose innocent Michelangelo to such things, but a promise is eventually given. He allows his brother to think that he is 'helping,' but in truth he merely becomes better at hiding his actions. He does promise Michelangelo that he will never go so far as to kill himself. It is an easy promise for him to make._

_He does not deserve the peace that death would bring._

* * *

"All is proceeding as planned, Master. We have been recording the memories from the subject's mind for several days. Even now, my team is in the process of developing additional, more destructive memories. I estimate in three more weeks we will be able to move to the next phase."

"Excellent work, Doctor," the Shredder replied, not looking up from the report that Ross had handed him earlier. "Do you have any hypotheses as to how long the final phase will take?"

"Based on the results of the previous and current stage, I would advise at least a full four weeks."

"So long?"

"The subject has proven to be unexpectedly loyal to his Clan. He has thus far been more apt to blame himself than to cede culpability to his 'family' for their actions. We have had to revise and refine several of the treatments in order to ensure the correct responses. I do not anticipate this changing when we move into the third phase of the experiment."

"Indeed. He has always been far too soft when it comes to his Clan – too willing to overlook their slights. Still, it had seemed that he was beginning to grow a backbone against them."

"I could not speak to that, Master, as I had no experience with the subject prior to this experiment and thus have no data with which to compare his current behavior. I will say that, at least based on the memories we have seen, it does appear that his responses to attacks from his family have in fact become more aggressive in at least the last year. We have been attempting to take advantage of that to encourage increasingly more hostile responses to their perceived attacks as the treatment has continued.

"As an added bonus, this should also aid in the reduction if not complete elimination of his reliance on self-harm to deal with negative emotions."

Saki finally closed the report and placed it on his desk. Tenting his hands in front of his mouth, he speared Doctor Ross with his dark eyes. "You have done well thus far, Doctor. See that you continue to do so. I _will_have Donatello serving me. For the Hamato Clan to lose not only a member but the one who has provided them with the entirety of their technological knowledge and tools – to have that same member fighting for the Foot instead… it is not a blow which I believe they will be able to survive."

* * *

Doctor Ross could not deny that the interest the Shredder showed in the reptile, and particularly in the reptile's mind, was most troubling. He had not wanted to listen to Stockman's delusional ramblings, but he had to admit that it was becoming more likely that the cyborg had at least a small point.

If nothing else, it always paid to be cautious.

He found himself quite thankful that Doctor Boyle had been assigned to a different project. It meant that there was no one to notice when he made one small… yet profound… alteration to the experiment.


End file.
